


Bounty

by Ripplestitchskein



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Bounty Hunters, F/M, Gen, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, cs au week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripplestitchskein/pseuds/Ripplestitchskein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for CS AU Week, Bounty Hunter!Emma and Bounty Hunter!Killian.</p><p>Emma finds herself with an unwanted partner at David's insistence when a high profile bond refuses to let himself be brought in. Despite her misgivings Emma finds that maybe working with Killian Jones won't be so bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Partners

“No. Absolutely not,” Emma puts her hands on her hips and shoots a dark look to the current source of her ire. He smirks at her, annoyingly happy-go-lucky, tilting back in his chair with his legs crossed at the ankles and propped on the corner of David’s desk, arms behind his head. The urge to hook her boot around the chair’s grounded leg and yank is overwhelming, her foot actually twitching from inaction.

 

David sighs and rubs his eyes, taking a moment to breathe. Her reaction was in no way unexpected and he had dithered for most of the day on bringing them both in for this conversation, a bright red calendar reminder covered in exclamation points finally spurning him into action. Unfortunately, all of his carefully worded logical arguments and shower rehearsed negotiation tactics fled the moment he had them both in the room, one glaring and looking murderous, the other grinning like it was Christmas morning.

 

“Emma,” David sighs again, looking at her pleadingly. “We forfeit this bond in _three weeks_. You’ve had 5 and a half months to bring this guy in.” He holds up a hand as she opens her mouth to protest. “I’m not blaming you, he’s a tricky bastard, but this is a huge bond and if we lose it my premium is going to go through the roof. I need everyone in on this and I need my top two people working together.”

 

Emma sighs and rubs a hand across her face. This Felix Samuelson business had gotten entirely out of her control. It was what kept her up at night now, a niggling sensation of failure always at the back of her mind, and she had worked tirelessly in between her other cases trying to find anything that could help her grab him. She knew for a fact he was still in town, had contacts who had spotted him recently, but he also had a lot of people protecting him, warning him, and keeping him just one step ahead of her.

 

“Come on love,” Killian waggles an eyebrow at her and practically leaps out of his chair. “Teamwork. All for one and one for all.” He leans forward, moving dangerously into her space, his face growing solemn, his good hand moving to rest softly on her arm. She is caught for a moment by the intensity of his stare, the determined set of his mouth, the twinkle in his eyes. “Together Swan, everyone accomplishes more.” Emma frowns suspiciously at that twinkle.

 

“What’re you-“ she follows the path of his eyes to the motivational poster just to the left of David’s head that says T.E.A.M. right under a photo of a very diverse group of professionals seated around a conference room table. “You’re an idiot.” She scoffs and shakes free of his grasp.

 

Emma turns back to David who looks equal parts apprehensive and like he is trying desperately to hide his amusement. He has always appreciated Jones’ particular brand of annoying. She turns the full force of her glare on him instead.

 

“I can handle it without _him,_ ” she jerks a thumb towards the “him” in question.

 

“If it were less money on the line Emma you know I would let you keep at it, but we can’t afford to take this hit and I can’t afford to take any more chances,” David hands a file over to Killian, a file she knows contains the exact same information she had received on Felix Samuelson months ago, minus the heaps of information she has gathered since then.

 

“But, Killian has agreed, in light of your months of legwork on this already, to take only ten percent of the recovery,” David looks at her pointedly, “Which is more than fair Emma.”

 

Emma swallows, trying to keep her face neutral. She knows, deep down, that David is right, that forfeiting a bond this high value would devastate his small operation and that it makes way more sense to have them both working on it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t rankle. That doesn’t mean she has to like it and that doesn’t mean that she feels any less like a failure over not being able to do it herself. 

 

“That is very generous of him,” Emma says finally after a moment her teeth grinding.

 

“Always was the generous sort,” Killian says good naturedly, rocking back on his heels. She wants to punch him.

 

“Be at my apartment at 8,” she snaps. “We’ll go over all the info I have already and make a game plan.”

 

“It’s a date then, ” Killian winks at her as she makes her way out of David’s office. She pauses in the doorway her fists clenching.  _God_ does she want to punch him.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

He knocks a tune on her front door at precisely 8:00 and she opens it to find him leaning insouciantly against the frame, a plastic bag with a familiar happy face cartoon on the side slung around his wrist.

 

“I don’t remember saying anything about dinner,” she crosses her arm across her chest but he doesn’t wait for an invitation, just breezes past her, bag held in front of him like a shield, or possibly an offering .

 

“Despite your rather robotic demeanor love , I know for a fact that you require the same form of sustenance as the rest of us,” He moves himself into her kitchen, opening drawers and removing cutlery and plates like he lives there. “Chinese food of questionable nutritional value and little, if any, actual Chinese origin.” 

 

He moves with a grace and precision that has always mesmerized and impressed her on the occasions she has had to witness it. For a man with only one hand he is deft and sure, his compensations second nature. She doesn’t know how long it has been since he lost the limb, but she knows he has honed the ability to work around it to the point if one were not paying attention they wouldn’t know the difference.

 

He slides a plate of lo mein and General Tso’s across the bar that serves as both eating and work space, an eyebrow raised as if daring her to eat it. She sighs and hauls herself onto the stool, taking the offered chopsticks from him.

 

“How do you know I haven’t already eaten?” She asks, spearing a piece of chicken with a stick.

 

“You haven’t,” he continues to prepare his own food, concentrating as he spoons it onto another plate.

“You never manage to get yourself something to eat before 8:00, even if you aren’t working, and you wouldn’t have had time to grab something  after leaving the office because you stopped by the gym to work out your,” he looks up at her,  eyes raking her obvious gym wear of tank top and lycra leggings , eyebrow raised, teeth flashing.  She isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light that has his eyes darkening or his appraisal of her skin tight workout clothes. “Aggressions.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes, flushing a bit under his scrutiny and concentrates on twirling lo mein with her chopsticks.

 

“How did you know my order?” She asks after a few minutes, realizing that not only did he know she preferred the lo mein to the fried rice but he had also snagged an order of her favorite sugar donuts, and they sat on the counter between them, just waiting on her to finish her main course.  An alarm flares in her chest.

 

He swallows a bite of his food.

 

“Easy love, I knew there were only two Chinese restaurants within a 5 block radius of your apartment that delivered and that you were unlikely to frequent a restaurant that doesn’t deliver because you can’t be bothered to pick up food and bring it home on a regular basis.”

 

He smirks and raises an eyebrow at her.  “And we both know you lack the skills to prepare a proper meal,” Emma scoffs at that but doesn’t argue with him, “And I ruled out the other place because they close promptly at 8:30 and you won’t even remember you’re required to eat until at least 8, so you need a place that is open later.”

 

Emma has abandoned eating her food, preferring instead to watch him, he was listing everything so matter of factly, waving his chopsticks around as he spoke, his knowledge of her habits a bit disconcerting. “So I stopped by the place and gave them your address and description and a twenty and they were more than happy to tell me what your standing order is. Apparently they know you very well indeed Swan.” He winks at the surprise on her face.

 

“But that’s a total breach of-“ she sputters, not sure if she should be upset or flattered, wondering if his actions are considered weird behavior or something perfectly normal. “That’s like…food stalking or something.”

 

“Relax Swan,” he leans over and spears a piece of her chicken popping it into his mouth. “It’s on a receipt attached to the menu you keep on your fridge. I saw it last time I was here.  I figured you’re a woman of simple tastes and stringent routines, and it was unlikely to have changed.” He gestures behind her to the offending document held in place by a magnet on her fridge. 

 

Killian resumes eating like it’s no big deal but Emma is thrown for a moment. She searches her memory for the last time Killian had set foot in her apartment and she isn’t able to come up with anything more recent than six or so months back when she had taken one of his skips so he could visit his brother and he had brought the paperwork over. 

 

She isn’t quite sure what to do with the knowledge that he has been keeping her Chinese order tucked away in his memory for months on end, so she doesn’t do anything and resumes her attempt at twirling lo mein with her chopsticks.

 

“For a women whose diet is 50% MSG and noodles you aren’t very skilled with those, love,” Emma feels herself bristle, but his smile is easy and teasing, dimples flashing, and she finds that she wants to blush more than she wants to get offended.

 

“It’s harder than it looks,” She murmurs, abandoning the effort and reaching for the fork he had set next to her plate.

 

“Practice makes perfect Swan,” he punctuates each word with a wave of his own chopsticks, twirling up his own noodles with a practiced flourish. 

 

“Show off,” Emma finds herself smirking at him across the counter and it’s not until they’ve been practically smiling at each other for several seconds that she remembers herself. It’s an all system shut down at that point, her smile fades, the shutters come down on her eyes, and she pulls her plate closer, shoulders hunched as she resumes eating.

 

Killian sighs but doesn’t mention her abrupt change in demeanor.

 

“So tell us about Mr. Samuelson,” he says.  “Favorite color, taste in music, perfect date, that kind of thing.”

 

As they eat she tells him what she knows so far, about the man’s known association with a much larger crime syndicate, about his various connections and his strongest allies, about the near misses and scrapes she had with him so far. He listens, nodding occasionally, asking questions when he has them, but mostly just letting her list out the facts of the case. It’s not an altogether different story from any of their other skips, Felix Samuelson just has more resources and a larger network of people to cover his ass.

 

They move to her living room, each taking one side of her couch, perching on the edge of the cushions, her file box of relevant case information open on the coffee table in front of them to peruse.

 

“His apartment has been vacant since his arrest, I’ve been by a few times, the landlord was really helpful but there was no trace of him,” she says.

  
“This is excellent Swan,” he murmurs, and Emma feels a surge of pride at his praise. She knows she is good at her job, even if the current situation doesn’t exactly make her feel like it, and her information gathering skills are a point of pride. “Though not entirely what one would call legal.” He smirks at her, eyebrow raised, holding up a stack of Felix Samuelson’s mail, his very open and obviously very read mail.

 

“The landlord was really helpful,” Emma repeats, unable to stifle the smile as she holds up the small mailbox key the man had provided her with. “It was useless anyway. He mostly gets junk offers, some utility bills, and a credit card statement once in awhile,” Killian looks up in interest but Emma waves it off, “No stand out purchases. Just a few small amounts done within the vicinity of his apartment, no patterns or points of interest and no new statements so he knows not to use the card.”

 

Killian looks at the date at the top of the statement, it’s for 3 months back.

 

“You’ve been checking his mail regularly?” He asks, his fingers moving across the stack of envelopes she has acquired.

 

“Every couple of weeks I stop by. He doesn’t get much,” she shrugs.  “I pull out anything relevant and throw the junk away.”

 

“How thoughtful of you. This is the last credit card statement he got?” he uses his thumb to flick through the stack, looking for another piece of mail with the same logo.

 

“Last one I saw,” Emma leans over on the couch to see the stack of mail. “Why?”

 

“He could have cancelled the card,” Killian murmurs, continuing to look through the stack. “But the limit on this one is pretty high, he keeps it paid off, I can’t imagine he’d cancel a card that would be good for emergency purchases,” He sets the piles of mail back in the box. “So either he’s having the statement forwarded or he switched to electronic billing.”

 

Emma immediately sees what he’s getting at and takes out her phone. “Well let’s hope it’s the former.”

 

She presses a few buttons on her phone to block her number and dials the 24 hour service number on the statement, pressing the speaker button on her phone as the automated voice comes through. Killian shifts across the cushions of the couch moving closer so he can hear. The fabric of his shirt brushes her arm with the movement, and Emma swallows, trying to focus on the menu options rather than the smell of him, something dark and spicy and clean, doing what she can to keep her voice steady as she speaks the department name.

 

The hold music is some kind of 80’s rock Emma vaguely recognizes and she can feel the vibration of his arm as his fingers move along with the melody. It takes her a few seconds to realize that he’s actually moving his fingers similarly to the chords and that sends a pang of something straight through her chest. 

 

He doesn’t seem to notice her stiffen beside him, humming along with the tune under his breath as they wait for the next available operator.  The woman who comes on is bright and cheery, giving a greeting and asking how she can help them.

 

“Yes,” Emma says, her voice transitioning smoothly into an accent that is all stereotypical Boston, she shifts, turning her body towards him, the phone in her hand, “I haven’t been receiving my statements and I’d like to know why?” Killian looks at her in surprise but Emma holds up a hand to quiet him.

 

“I’d be happy to help with that, can I get the account number and the last four of the social on this account?” the operator asks, and Emma answers smoothly, reading the numbers off the statement and reciting the social by memory. Killian raises an eyebrow at her knowledge of it but she ignores him.

“Thank you Mrs. Samuelson. Just give me one second while I check this out for you.”

 

Killian mouths “Ms. Samuelson” at her with a smirk and Emma holds a finger up, hovering just above his lips as she answers another question for the operator.

 

“Looks like your husband requested that those statements be forwarded to a different address a few months back, do we need to remove that forward for you?”

 

“Can you verify the address he had it forwarded to,” Emma asks, her voice. “I want to make sure he gave the right one. He can be so forgetful.”

 

Killian snorts at her impression of fond exasperation with her “husband” and Emma snaps her fingers for a pen as the woman begins reciting the address. 

 

“Yes that’s the right one,” Emma takes the pen Killian hands her, turning him to press her notebook onto his back so she can write it down since the table in front of them is full. He obliges readily as she scribbles, both of them smiling simultaneously when they realize it’s a local place. “No, no changes, I’ll just get with the postal carrier. Thank you so much.” Emma hangs up.

 

“Bloody brilliant lass,” Killian is smiling at her, turning back to face her as she pulls the notebook away. “An inspired performance.”

 

“Shut up, “ Emma murmurs, but she puffs up at his praise anyway, a flush spreading across her cheeks a moment later when she realizes how close they’ve unconsciously gotten. He’s relaxed on the cushion next to her and she’s managed to turn her body into his, her front pressed along his side, their thighs melded together until the edge of the seat. She shifts back, turning her legs around, and making a show of looking at her watch.

 

“It’s only 9:30, you feeling up for a stakeout?” Emma waves the notebook at him.

 

“I’m up for anything you’d like love,” Killian waggles an eyebrow at her. His blatant flirting is much easier to rebuff than casual intimacy and Emma shoves his shoulder as she stands up.

 

 “Well come on then Jones, we’ll stop and get some coffees on the way.”  Emma goes to grab her boots from beside the door.

 

“Just lead the way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     

“It has always baffled me that you manage to get any sort of covert work done in this vehicle Swan,” Killian leans back in his seat, the old leather creaking as he shifts positions. “Not exactly subtle is it?”

 

They are currently several hours later into the evening, parked in a prime spot in an alley just across the street from the address Felix Samuelson is apparently having his mail forwarded to. This area of town is nice, and quite, and no one will bother them despite the lateness of the hour. Their position is out of the way and discreet but still affords them the view necessary to see if anyone enters or leaves the building that might match to Samuelson’s description.  So far, no one has come or gone from the mid-scale apartment building, but people in Felix’s line of work keep late hours and Killian and Emma are ever vigilant.

 

“Gets the job done,” Emma shrugs and takes a sip of her iced coffee. “People don’t notice because they don’t have a reason to notice. I usually nab them before they have a chance to recognize the vehicle a second time. And you’re one to talk Mr. Flashy Leather Jacket and Shiny Earring. You think people don’t remember a guy who looks like he’s an understudy for an avant garde production of “The Pirates of Penzance?”

 

“Understudy,” Killian scoffs. “I’ll have you know that I am lead pirate captain material darling. Gilbert and Sullivan could only wish for a specimen as fine as me,” Killian smiles and winks at her, turning his eyes back to the building.

 

“Did you happen to get any snacks Captain?” Emma asks dryly. “I’m starting to get hungry.”

 

“Only the finest for the lady,” Killian turns in his seat, shifting across the center console so he can reach into the back seat for the bag he had come out of the convenience store with earlier.

 

Emma finds herself in the same position as before, breathing in the heady smell of him and feeling his warmth in the small space of the car. It’s been awhile since she found herself this close in proximity to another person, her work is generally a solo gig and she doesn’t have any really close friends, and Emma certainly has no recent personal relationships either. The closest she’s come to another human being in the past few weeks is someone running next to her on the treadmill at the gym.

 

They’ve both worked for David for years and they’ve had their share of annoyed banter when they meet in the office, a few instances of trading professional favors and several instances of Jones’ special brand of flirtation, but Emma has never found herself this close to him for so long before.

 

She can’t deny that he is a very attractive man, and she also can’t deny that he smells absolutely divine, but what she can do is maintain professionalism. It would be foolish to jeopardize their working relationship just because she suddenly has the ridiculous urge to press her nose into the space between his shoulder and his neck and breathe him in.  Not to mention that there is a very high stakes bond on the line and they certainly won’t catch their man if she’s yanking her attractive, albeit unwanted, partner into the back seat to have her wicked way with him.  

 

Emma shifts back in her seat to give him space, pressing her back against the door, yanking her eyes from his neck back to the building.

 

Killian is assembling something next to her and she casts him a look out of the corner of her eye.

 

“What are you doing?” her voice comes out gruffer than she intends, and he looks momentarily surprised at her tone but continues on cheerily.

 

“I said only the finest,” he reminds her, and it appears that he is cutting up little white sticks of mozzarella into smaller pieces.

 

“Just get on with it Jones, I’m starving,” Emma takes another sip of her drink, her eyes darting between the building and him.

 

“Patience Princess,” he continues his work, occasionally riffling around in the bag. “I know that a bag of chips and questionable jerky is your usual fare, but when you’re on a stakeout with Killian Jones things tend to get a bit more refined.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes for what feels like the millionth time that evening, allowing him to continue his ministrations as she watches the building.

 

“Here we are milady,” he says finally and Emma looks down. In addition to the cut up bits of mozzarella string cheese there are a few other varieties of cheese, these in cubes, an assortment of carefully arranged lunch meats and pepperoni slices, several different types of crackers, a fan of perfectly cut apple slices and a bunch of large globe grapes. “Fit for royalty that is.”

 

“Wow Jones,” Emma has to admit she’s impressed with what he’s managed to cobble together after a 10 minute stop at a gas station. “That’s a pretty impressive spread.”

 

“And we can’t forget refreshments,” he offers her his flask from inside his coat.

 

“I don’t drink and bail bond,” Emma says, taking a grape and popping it into her mouth.

 

“Suit yourself,” he takes a healthy swig. “Just a little something to warm up the blood.”

 

“All right fine,” she takes the flask from him, knocking back a healthy swig of her own and enjoying the burn of the liquor on the way down. She can feel it rising up within her, warm and soothing all the way to the top of her head.

 

“Is this what you usually bring on your stakeouts?” Emma asks after they’ve spent several minutes taking turns picking things off the plate.

 

“Me? No, I’m more of a black coffee and broody thoughts kind of guy meself,” he punctuates this by taking a sip of his coffee. “But we can’t have you starving to death Swan,” he steals a pepperoni right from under her fingers, popping it into his mouth with a raised eyebrow and devilish smile. “I know how cranky you can get without food.”

 

Emma doesn’t bother to deny it, too busy pushing down the feeling of being slightly touched that he’d gone to so much trouble just because she happened to be there as well. She might have been loath to work with him but he’s gone out of his way to make sure that this experience so far has been a pleasant one.

 

He must see something in her expression because the tips of his ears flame red and his thumb begins moving across his fingers one at a time, a clear sign that he is nervous. He shifts in the seat next to her and clears his throat, tilting his head towards the building.

 

“What time do you want to call it a night and assume ole’ Felix is a no show?” He asks, no longer looking at her.

 

Emma looks down at the plate thoughtfully for a moment.  


“I think we can handle this for a few more hours at least.”

 

 

 


	2. Operation Overlord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian brings breakfast. Emma recruits an ally.

“Happy Endings,” Killian’s voice comes out of nowhere from somewhere above her and Emma gives a start, jerking her head away from the monitor. He proceeds to follow up that rather odd pronouncement by plopping a white styrofoam takeout container onto the desk next to her keyboard, a piece of bright fuchsia paper resting on the top of it. 

He has a similar takeout container balanced precariously in the crook of his elbow and he bends down, gracefully using the edge of the desk to push it down the length of his arm into his now free and empty hand. 

“What?” Emma asks bewildered, the write up on one of her recently, and thankfully successfully, captured skips forgotten in favor of his impressive display of not only dexterity but apparently, breakfast. “What is this?” 

“It’s a night club,” Killian hooks a stray plastic chair, usually reserved for family members trying to secure bail money for their loved ones, with his foot, dragging it in front the desk Emma is currently occupying, and falling unceremoniously into the seat. 

“Awfully small for a nightclub,” Emma lifts the lid of her box, peeking at bright yellow eggs covered in gooey orange cheese, thick links of sausage, a large slab of ham, and three slices of golden brown French toast all crammed inside to the point of bursting and smelling absolutely heavenly. Before Emma can speak again he is reaching into his pocket, taking out a few small tubs of slightly melted butter and a container of maple syrup. He places them next to the box with a wink.

“Har, Har, Swan, that is food. I know it looks a bit foreign to your nocturnal eyes, but it’s the traditional fare of people who seek to break a fast, such as one caused by that mysterious sleeping lark you’ve been hearing so much about.” He raises an eyebrow at her, and produces a plastic fork and knife from his other pocket, setting them next to the condiments.

“Yes, but why are you bringing it to me?” Emma asks, tearing the plastic from the offered utensils, her mouth watering a bit in anticipation despite her confusion over his motives. 

It’s been awhile since she had an actual hot, home cooked (or rather, by appearances, diner cooked) breakfast, usually grabbing a bowl of cold cereal or a protein bar on her way out the door, and she isn’t going to turn her nose up at a free meal. 

“Why do you keep bringing me food?” There is more than a hint of suspicion in her voice as she spears a link of sausage, her eyes narrowed at him and an eyebrow raised. So far Killian has been responsible for almost every meal she has consumed the past few days when previously they had barely exchanged pieces of gum. 

Killian ignores her question, reaching across to hold up the now discarded piece of loudly colored paper. Emma can see “Happy Endings” splashed across it in a large whimsical font, a small box advertising some locally famous DJ, another box containing the details of several drink specials, and third giving pricing and Ladies Night information. There are musical note clip arts and little bits of hand drawn confetti’s adorning the whitespace, along with a poorly photocopied picture of the DJ in question as added flair. 

“A nightclub,” he says again, setting the paper down and beginning the task of unwrapping his own utensils. “Under new management, as it were, and most recently purchased by a one Mr. Malcom Gold.” 

Emma’s eyes widen in surprise, her fork momentarily forgotten. That was the same Malcolm Gold who had his fingers in quite a few of the local criminal pies, the same Malcolm Gold who was rumored to be a very large reason for the recent influx of violent crimes and disappearances in the neighborhood, the same Malcolm Gold who was the last known employer of Felix Samuelson. 

“How did you find that out?” Emma tries to keep her voice nonchalant, willing herself not to get too excited over the prospect of a potential new lead, a new unexplored connection to their man. It has been months since she discovered anything of importance and Killian is like a good luck charm, coming in and helping her uncover apparently not one, but two, new pieces of information. First the forwarding address and now this night club owned by Felix’s mob-boss like employer. 

“I have an in at the city records office,” Killian smiles to himself, pleased at her reaction, her feigned disinterest not fooling him for a moment. “Told her to give me a ring if any of the red flag names came by her desk, she called me first thing this morning, it’s not even on the property appraiser’s site yet.”

“Well that was nice of….Her,” Emma says, keeping her voice level and her eyes fixed on her food.

“Aye, that’s Tink, we’ve known each other a long time. Always willing to help in a pinch,” Killian’s face is neutral and reveals nothing more about this Tink, of the ridiculous name, who works at the city records office, who is always willing to help, and he smoothly brushes past it, tapping the paper with the tines of his fork. “Gold actually signed the official paperwork just a few days ago, but rumor has it he’s been using the building as a front for months.”

“A front for what?” Emma asks but she almost stops listening for his response as she takes a bite of the sinfully good French toast, her eyes closing and a small moan making its way down the back of her throat.  
It is eggy and delicious, crisp on the outside, buttery soft in the middle, with just a hint of cinnamon and she can’t remember the last time she had anything so good. When she opens her eyes Killian has stopped talking completely and is looking at her with a dark expression on his face, his fork paused midway between his plate and his mouth, lips slightly parted. He clears his throat.

“Money laundering mostly, I’m sure,” he resumes speaking after a moment more of silence, snapping his eyes away from her back to his food. “Nightclubs are a primarily cash based business with easily exaggerated numbers of patrons and unaccountable liquor inventories.” 

“Hmmm, so you think Samuelson might make an appearance at Mr. Gold’s new club?” 

Emma averts her eyes as he sucks a bit of stray maple syrup off his fork, feeling heat rise in her belly at the curl of his tongue around the plastic. She swallows, choosing to busy herself with the task of deciding what to eat next instead. 

“That’s the idea,” he says, and taps the paper again with the utensil. “I think this could be the key to getting Samuelson to drop his guard. He’s expecting you to pop up at his home or at his place of,” he pauses, “questionably gainful employment, even at his mate’s flats, but here? A crowded night club he doesn’t think you’ll realize the connection to? He won’t be expecting that I reckon.”

“Okay I’m in,” Emma pulls the flyer closer to her to look at the date. “Are you free this Saturday?”

“Why Swan, are you suggesting we go, together, to a place where there will no doubt be drinking, dancing, and with any luck, copious amounts of general debauchery?” Killian feigns shock, his lips tilting up at the corners. “I’m flattered by your attentions love.”

“Don’t get any ideas Jones, this is just business,” Emma warns, pointing her own fork accusingly at him. “Got it?”

“’Course love, I’m all business,” his smile is practically wicked, knowing he is provoking her and obviously finding it incredibly amusing, his tongue pressing into the sharp point of his canine as he leers at her across the desk. Emma feels an unwanted blush creeping across her cheeks and scowls at him hoping he mistakes it for the flush of anger instead. 

“I was going to head over to that apartment building today, see if I can get any of the neighbors to provide us with some details on their newest resident.” Emma says after a moment, deciding a subject change into strictly professional territory is what’s needed for her to regain control of this situation. 

It was completely disarming first thing in the morning to be brought an incredible tasting breakfast out of the blue and then be shamelessly flirted at by the attractive man responsible for bringing said breakfast. Hell, she would need large volumes of caffeine before she was prepared to deal with only one of those scenarios, much less both. She is thankful that David hasn’t made it in yet, preferring to work a mid-shift to extend the office hours for late night clients, because she certainly doesn’t need a witness to this ridiculousness.

“Would you like some company?” Killian asks, and while she would normally expect him to continue to add a certain level of salaciousness to that question and carry on with the trend of the morning, he is looking at her very seriously over the desk, almost concerned, and that might be even worse than salacious. “Might be a good idea to bring some back up if you’re venturing into a viper’s nest, Swan.”

Under completely normal circumstances, when her guard wasn’t down as a side effect of a full belly and excessive amounts of sugary syrup, and during times when she hadn’t already promised to let him in completely on this case, Emma would be enraged at the mere suggestion that she would require backup. She had taken down people three times Felix Samuelson’s size, and outwitted criminals that were far craftier than he could ever be, and she certainly didn’t need help knocking on a few doors and handing out a business cards. Still, the circumstances weren’t entirely normal, and she was nodding almost before she knew it. 

“Alright Jones, we’ll do some canvassing, see if we can get some eyes and ears in place.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The apartment building they had spent the better part of an evening surveilling was even nicer on the inside, with a fully functional, if unmanned, entrance lobby, a large freight elevator next to a fully equipped gym, and a decently sized laundry facility. It was clean, modern, and well maintained and Emma briefly entertained the idea of finding out if they had any leasing information she could take back with her to peruse after this was all over. Or rather, she was, until she realized that there was a distinct lack of anything even approaching security. The pair had absolutely no problem gaining access to not only the building itself, but the very floor for the forwarding address on Samuelson’s credit card statement. 

Emma was fully prepared with an arsenal of social engineering tactics to gain admittance but in the end all it took was a well-timed tailgate into the lobby after another resident, and a sheepish smile as they all awkwardly rode the elevator up to the fifth floor.

Samuelson’s unit was at the end of the very long corridor, and that was of course their first stop, Killian placing a card over the peephole and Emma knocking smartly on the door before pressing her ear against it. 

There was no noise from within the apartment, no indistinct, murmuring, voices from a television set, no shuffling of feet or telltale shushing sounds, no opening of windows that lead onto terraces and fire escapes. Killian moves to the window at the end of the corridor, lifting back a thick beige curtain to peer out. 

“I think I can use the fire escape and shimmy along the edge of the building to the terrace here,” he looks back at her, an eyebrow raised in challenge. She can see excitement shining in his eyes and a look that says “Danger!” 

“What do you think, Swan? I sincerely doubt he’d be expecting anyone coming in that way, probably doesn’t even bother to lock it.” Killlian grins, his hand going up to fiddle experimentally with the latch. 

Emma leans past him to peer out the window, past the fire escape to the ground below. The height is significant five stories up, not to mention deadly, the ledge in question only a few inches wide, and she shakes her head vehemently at him. Unfortunately, Killian has figured out the latch and is pushing the window up with the palm of his hand.

“No freaking way,” she shakes her head again. “Are you crazy? What, do you have a death wish or something? Not to mention, that would be illegal!” Emma bats his hand away, pushing the window back down. She gives him a stern look, reaching up to the flick the latch closed.

“Is that a touch of concern I hear in your voice?” Killian tilts his head to the side, cupping his hand to his ear. “Fear not Swan, for I am a survivor. I also happen to do an excellent Spiderman impersonation. And as far as legality, we both know you toe the line there as well.” 

“No Spiderman,” Emma says sternly, poking his chest, not bothering to argue with him on that last point. “Do you have any idea how horrific the paperwork would be if you died while working with me on a case? David would go ballistic over the insurance claim alone. All we’re doing is just handing out a few cards and then we’ll be on our way,” Emma shakes her head at him again with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation, heading to the door of the apartment next to Samuelson’s. He looks at the window with something like longing but he follows her nonetheless. 

She plasters a bright, cheerful smile on her face, one that she hopes is pleasant, and gives a knock on the door. Killian grumbles something next to her about not being able to have any fun and she shushes him with a look. 

The door swings open after a few moments to reveal a boy of around 11 or 12. He is a cute kid as far as kids go, with a mop of slightly untidy brown hair and a splash of freckles across his nose. Emma turns the pleasant smile down to him. 

“Hey there, is your mom home by any chance? Or your dad?” She can hear cartoons on the TV from within, something high pitched and squealy, but no other noises from inside the apartment. She looks past him into the foyer. The parts she can see are tidy, but sparsely furnished and very simply decorated. She can see some toys more appropriate for a younger child at the corner of the living room within her line of sight, but nothing else particularly telling. 

The boy begins to shake his head but stops himself.

“You two don’t look like delivery people,” he looks them up and down, taking in their leather jackets and boots. “And you don’t look like you’re selling anything. Are you guys cops or something?” he asks, eyeing them suspiciously. He sweeps them again, looking for any signs that say “law enforcement” but unable to make out the shape of firearms under their clothing or badges clipped to their belts.

Emma keeps her smile fixed in place. She can only hope Killian is doing the same behind her. The boy looks between them, unimpressed, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Or something. Look, we just have a few questions we’re hoping your parents can help us answer,” Emma decides lying won’t work and drops the pleasant routine, this kid is too old to fall for her usual stuff, and he seems a bit more intelligent than boys his age usually are. Under normal circumstances she would thank him for his time, throwing a “stay in school, don’t do drugs” over her shoulder on her way out, but his apartment is directly besides Samuelson’s and therefore potentially very useful in determining when he comes back. 

“My mom’s out of town on business, this is her boyfriend’s place,” the boy seems to realize his mistake, in addition to the shake of his head earlier, and his eyes widen. “And he’s…. in the kitchen. He’s busy right now though, making lunch. Yeah, he’s making me lunch.” 

Lie.

“Its okay kid,” Emma’s face softens, and she smiles again, this one much more genuine and reassuring. She can tell that the boy is nervous, and afraid he’s made some great blunder revealing that he is alone in the apartment, probably trained by his parents to never tell anyone that, and the last thing she wants to do is scare a child. “Good call though, telling us an adult is home even if one isn’t. That’s very good thinking.” 

“How did you-?” he doesn’t finish his question. 

“It’s one of my skills,” Emma says conspiratorially, leaning in to whisper it to the kid like it is some secret just between them. “I can usually tell when someone…anyone, is lying.” It’s the truth. It’s something she’s always been good at, even if his attempt had been better she would have seen through it. 

“Like a super power?” 

“Exactly. Like a superpower,” Emma’s smile turns into a grin at the excitement that crosses his face. 

“That’s so cool! I bet that’s a pretty handy skill to have as a….something,” the boy gives her a sly look and Emma almost laughs. “Do you have a super power too?” He eagerly looks past her to Killian, whose eyes widen for a second at being put on the spot. He coughs to himself. 

“My cunning wit?” he offers but the kid is less enthused by that and turns his attention fully back to her. 

“What do you need my mom and her boyfriend for? What kind of questions?” he asks.

Emma takes a deep breath. Her thoughts are warring against one another. On one hand she can choose to go with her gut and trust this child, asking him to keep an ear out for the comings and goings of a potentially dangerous criminal and get an inside track on when said criminal at the apartment, or she can be responsible and can thank the kid for his time, and her and Killian will be on their way.

“Okay kid, here’s the deal,” she hears Killian shuffle forward behind her, the first syllable of a warning leaving his mouth and she puts a hand up to stop him in his tracks without looking at him. “We need to talk to your neighbor about a very important business matter. He missed an appointment and he needs to reschedule.” She takes out a card. “But we kinda need it to be a surprise. Catch my drift? He can’t know we are looking for him.” She hands the card to the boy solemnly. 

The boy looks at it, reading it, his mouth moving over the words “Bail bonds”. 

“Oh! You guys are like bounty hunters? That’s so cool,” the boy is practically hopping up and down now, the card clutched tightly in his eager hands. Emma shushes him, her eyes darting to the door, hoping that not only is Felix not at home right now, but that if he is, that he didn’t just hear a little boy squeal out “bounty hunters” in the hallway. 

“Okay now-“ Emma pauses. “What’s your name kid?”

“Henry.” 

 

“Okay now, Henry, all I need you to do is, if you see or hear anyone enter your neighbor’s apartment just give the number on that card a ring. Nothing else, okay? That’s all, just call if you hear anyone next door in that unit and we’ll come by to chat with him about rescheduling his appointment.” 

“For his court date right? He missed his court date and you’re gonna haul him back to jail,” the boy, Henry, is still humming with energy, but he’s whispering now and he is obviously too smart for his own good. 

“Okay yeah, that’s what we’re doing,” Emma huffs out a breath. “But if he knows we’re coming he won’t stick around so that’s why we need you to keep an eye and an ear out and let us know when he’s home, but all you do is keep your ears and eyes open and then you call. Got it? Don’t knock on his door, don’t ask him any questions, don’t talk to him at all. Okay?” 

“Sure, I can do that, no problem. But we should probably have a code name,” Henry says as if that’s the most reasonable suggestion in the world. 

“A code name?” Emma looks at him confused. 

“Yeah like Operation Overlord, or Mission Oculus or something,” his enthusiasm makes Emma smile wider and she peers out of the corner of her eye at Killian who is also trying to hide his own amusement, even if he looks a bit unsure about this whole thing. 

“Yeah, that’d be great. Whatever you want kid, just let me know what you decide,” she points to the card. “That’s my cell number, you can call me anytime, day or night, okay? But like I said, don’t talk to him, don’t do anything fancy or heroic, just give us a call if you happen to hear anything next door, okay?”

“Okay, you got it,” Henry nods solemnly looking at them intensely. “I won’t do anything dangerous. I’m not an idiot. And I promise I won’t let you down.” 

Emma’s heart melts a little at that and she gives him a small punch on the shoulder. 

“I’m sure you won’t Henry,” she smiles at him softly. “We really appreciate it. And it was really nice meeting you kid.” 

Henry gives them a both a salute, closing the door but not before she sees him smiling down at her business card with excitement. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea lass?” Killian murmurs next to her once the door has closed. “Involving the boy?” 

“He was a smart kid,” Emma says defensively. “I liked him. He seemed like he can handle it. Plus, no one notices kids unless they’re their own, and even then,” Emma gives a shrug as she moves across the hall, rapping on the door directly across from Samuelson’s apartment. “And I did tell him to listen only and call, not engage. Twice.”

“I’m just thinking of when I was a lad, Swan. I doubt I would have heeded your words,” they wait a few moments for someone to answer the door, not hearing any sounds from this apartment either. 

“Yeah well, you barely listen now so that’s hardly surprising,” Emma shoots him a look, her expression turning serious, shrugging again. “I dunno, I just think he can handle it. He seemed like a good kid.” 

Killian nods at her, smiling reassuringly and she can hear the buzz of his phone in his pocket. He ignores it though, looking at her intently. 

“Aye lass, I’m sure he is. You do tend to have excellent instincts,” Killian looks down a bit sheepishly, his hand going into his pocket. “I have to say, it was smart thinking on your part. He’s much more likely to call than the mum or the boyfriend would be, just based on sheer interest alone. Now we have a whole “Operation” under way it seems.”

“Exactly,” Emma grins at him for a moment, and then turns her attention back to the door of the next apartment, sighing and tossing her hair and as she raps on the last door in the corridor. They wait several minutes but like the other two there is no noise from inside. “I don’t think anyone else is gonna be home. We can try later in the evening when people get off work but I think our best bet is probably that apartment.” She points back to Henry’s unit.

“Agreed Swan,” Killian makes a humming noise, looking down at his phone with interest, a smile slowly spreading across his face. It’s obvious from his expression that he’s received some good news. “Fancy coming along to a potential pickup, love? Seems one of my ne’er-do-wells has been spotted. Could be fun.” 

He waves the screen in front of her as if tempting her with a particularly delicious sweet. Those intense blue eyes of his are twinkling with mischief and that hint of danger again and Emma looks at him uncertainly. 

It is one thing to collaborate with him on cases when David is forcing her too, it is quite another to go gallivanting off, picking up his other skips like they are legitimate partners. She has always worked solo in the past and part of her bristles at the thought of being part of someone’s “team” but another part of her, the part that has never belonged anywhere, yearns for the opportunity, for that sense of camaraderie, even if it’s just helping Killian apprehend one of the clients, the fact that he is actually offering for her to tag along, without innuendo or ulterior motive, is pretty enticing. And they do seem to work well together. 

He must see the battle going on in her eyes because the smile on his face drops and he lowers the phone, clearing his throat, that sheepish, almost sad, look overtaking his face again.

“Alternatively, if it is not too much trouble, if you could take me back to the office so I may retrieve my truck?” He asks, shoving the phone back into the pocket of his leather jacket. “I would be most appreciative.” 

Emma swallows. She looks down at the ground, taking another second before steeling herself and making her decision. 

“No! No, um,” she sucks in a breath. “We can go, together,” Emma shakes her head, exasperated, wondering when she got so fucking awkward. “I mean, we can go pickup your guy.” Emma, gives him a teasing smirk, recovering. “Besides, if I take him down first I think you’re obligated to bring me in on the recovery fee.” She makes her way to the elevator, pressing the button. 

Killian scoffs beside her, holding his arm in front of the door, motioning for her to step inside before joining her. 

“Although I have no doubt in your abilities, darling, I’ve been tracking this brigand for weeks now, you don’t get to step in for the payoff at the midnight hour, that’s bad form.” Despite his reprimand he is grinning down at her, rocking back on his heels obviously pleased that she will be accompanying him. 

“But I will consider treating you to lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This story is so much fun to write and I have so many headcanons for it. I have a general idea of the over all plot but my main goal is just to have a lot of fun with this, explore some of my favorite tropes, and have a nice slow burn romance between our faves.
> 
> As always, come chat over on tumblr (ripplestitchskein) and I'll have a new part of this and "The Elements of Cake Design" posted soon!


	3. Handcuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Killian take down a skip.

Emma parks the car a few blocks away at Killian’s instruction, casting a sideways glance at him as he looks down to his phone. It’s a fairly middle class part of town, just outside their usual neighborhood, and she’s glad to see the streets are mostly deserted. There are a few people milling about at this time of day but most of the area’s residents appear to be at work or indoors, and she much prefers to take people down without an audience.

 

“He’s setup outside,” Killian says scrolling through a text. “Appears to be selling….infant furniture?” He looks questioningly at Emma who shrugs uncomfortably, looking away.  Baby furniture isn’t really her thing.

 

“What was he in for?”

 

“Possession of stolen property,” Killian says. “Which tells me he probably didn’t acquire these prams and cots through entirely…. ethical means.”

 

“The “prams” and “cots” probably fell off the back of a truck,” Emma cracks her knuckles. “So what’s the plan? How do you want to play this?”

 

Killian smiles at her enthusiasm, running a hand through his hair, looking a bit sheepish..

 

“Well first things, first Swan. You wouldn’t happen to have some handcuffs I could borrow, would you?” He peers into the back seat, happy to see a bolt on the floor of the Volkswagen. “Perhaps some leg irons? He might be a kicker.”

 

“Seriously? You didn’t even bring your own cuffs? You want me to run him down for you too?” Emma rolls her eyes but she is smiling as she leans over his lap to pop open the glove compartment, retrieving a pair of double lock handcuffs from inside. There are a few more potentially useful items in there, even more in her trunk, and she wonders if they might need some of them.   “Is he gonna be armed you think?”

 

Killian shakes his head, reaching for the handcuffs, but Emma is faster, snatching them up and pulling them just out of his reach with a teasing smirk.

 

“No way buddy, I have the handcuffs so _I’m_ gonna do the cuffing,” she jingles them at him before lifting up in her seat to slip them into the back of her jeans. “I might let you watch if you’re good though.”

 

Emma knows she is playing with fire, skirting that thin line between professional co-worker banter and all out flirtation, and there is certainly nothing professional about the flush of heat that settles in her belly when he licks his lips in response, but she can’t seem to stop the words from practically falling out of her mouth.

 

“I told you Swan, this guy is mine. I’ve been waiting on him to make an appearance for weeks now,” Killian tilts his head. “You wouldn’t deny a man the _satisfaction_ of a successful capture. Would you?”

 

His voice lowers considerably, his eyes beginning a lazy rove across her face, traveling slowly and deliberately from her eyes down to her mouth, focusing on her lips, leaning just a bit further across the console into her space.  

 

Emma snorts, pushing her door open and hopping out.

 

“Damn straight I would,” she slams the door behind her, leaving him to scramble out the other side.

 

“Bad form, Swan,” he closes his own door and waits for her to come around to join him on the sidewalk, sidling up close when she reaches him. Emma tries her hardest to appear unimpressed with him, crossing her arms across her chest, raising her eyebrow, and giving him a look as if to say “What are you going to do about it?”

 

He is leans in again, warm and smelling of leather, trapping her between his body and the car door. She feels the nudge of his shoulder on hers for just a moment, his smile easy.

 

“I didn’t ask you to come along so you could steal my case, lass, I asked you to come along because I was loath to be parted from your company so soon,” his tone is low and playful, but something in his eyes is almost sincere, and Emma can’t for the life of her hear a lie in his voice.

 

“Well I-,” she flounders for a moment, unsure of how to respond, swallowing forcefully. Thankfully she doesn’t have to as he steps back, his mouth twisting into a triumphant smirk.

 

“And now _I_ seem to have the handcuffs so _I_ shall do the cuffing,” he holds up the cuffs, dangling them from his finger, and gives her a wink.

 

Emma sputters, his sincerity forgotten, her hand going instantly to the small of her back and finding nothing but the fabric of her shirt. The handcuffs are gone, apparently in the hands of her Artful Dodger partner, now teasingly hanging inches from her face. She reaches out, trying to snatch them from his grasp, but he’s too quick, pulling them back into his hand and gracefully moving away, out of range.

 

“I will let you watch though, no need to be good, darling, I much prefer when you aren’t,” she glares at his back as he practically _saunters_ away, shoving the cuffs into the pocket of his coat.

 

____

 

Marcus Owens is a thin gangly man of indeterminate age and questionable hygiene. Indeterminate because years of hard living, and what appears to be a fair amount of alcohol and drug abuse put him anywhere between early 30’s and late 50’s by Emma’s estimate.

 

This isn’t helped by his hair, which is what Emma likes to call “Bozo Bald”, thin tufts of what could be blonde or gray curls poking out of the sides of his shiny skull. He wears a thin tank top, once white but now yellow with sweat or nicotine, maybe both, and his pants looked as if they haven’t been washed in recent memory. She’s sure he smells wonderful.

 

He lounges lazily in a fold out metal chair, surrounded on the sidewalk by various pieces of baby equipment, strollers, cribs, bouncers in varying colors and styles, all fairly new by the looks of it, and not a single one obtained by legitimate means.

 

“You better scrub my seats down after this guy Jones,” Emma murmurs, as they get closer. Killian smiles at her, but doesn’t take his eyes off Marcus.

 

“Ah and there’s Smee,” he motions to a portly fellow near their target who is closely inspecting a rainforest jumper, occasionally asking Marcus questions and poking at it uncertainly, giving it a nervous press of his hand to test the bounciness.

 

Emma has seen the larger man around town from time to time. When you spend most of your time in the gray area of the law you tend to run into characters from both the light and the dark, and Smee definitely falls in there on the darker end of the spectrum. He was known as a jack of all trades of sorts who mostly dealt in information and favors but has been known to skirt the line of legality and delve into the realm of actual goods acquisition from time to time. She wouldn’t be altogether surprised if he didn’t have a file, or several, down at the office himself.

 

“Friend of yours?” She raises an eyebrow at him, somewhat surprised by the company he apparently keeps. Killian had never struck her as being a straight laced angel of the light by any means, but she had also never known him to openly associate with the criminal element outside of a take down.

 

“Former co-worker you could say,”   the smile drops from his face at the admission but he doesn’t take his eyes off their target.

 

Emma is about to question him further, everything from grocery store clerks to drug dealers flashing through her head, and her mouth is just opening to form the words when he darts suddenly from her side with a yell.  

 

Marcus Owens has leapt to his feet, apparently both spotting and recognizing them on sight, crashing through the pile of baby furniture, strollers and tricycles tipping and scattering to the side, as he trips over them in his haste to get away. Smee lets out a little shriek of surprise, his hands fluttering up as he backs away from the man, almost tripping on a stroller himself.  

 

Emma takes just a moment to process the scene, to take in the abrupt shift from lazy stroll towards their perp to all out sprint, before she follows suit, her boots slapping against the pavement.

 

Killian is just ahead of her. She has never seen him run before, and she’s not sure if someone can be _good_ at running, but if they can Killian certainly falls into that category. His strides are long and sure, his arms pumping, his form almost elegant. Marcus throws a highchair behind him right into their path but Killian leaps over it, not even breaking stride, weaving effortlessly around both that and the bench and garbage can just beyond.

 

Emma is a bit clumsier, not quite coordinated enough to pull out a daring leap over it, forced to slow and step around instead.

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” she pants as she pumps her arms, willing herself to go faster. She sees Marcus veer suddenly right, just a few hundred feet ahead, darting across the street without any warning whatsoever. In the next instant Killian follows suit, not far behind him, gaining ground with each passing second.

 

“Jesus Christ, fuck!” Emma gives a shriek, unable to form a coherent sentence in time, as he narrowly avoids being hit head on by a car, the driver slamming on his brakes with a squeal of tires and the blare of a horn. Killian ignores all of it, his face intensely focused on his target as he lengthens his stride, jumping the curb onto the sidewalk with ease.

 

Emma takes the break in traffic and darts across herself, a bit behind but keeping them in her sights, her leap onto the sidewalk is less graceful and is more an accidental pitch forward than a deliberate movement.

 

Marcus gives a yell as he turns to see Killian just behind him, his surprise that the other man is so close breaking his concentration, his foot stumbling beneath him. Killian takes the opening, immediately leaping, tackling the other man around the middle, and bringing them both forcefully to the ground.

 

Emma can hear the whoosh of air leaving Marcus’s lungs, and she watches with fascination as Killian smoothly, and effortlessly, flips the man onto his back, wrenching one arm behind him, holding it down  against the small of his back with a knee.

 

She’s never really watched a takedown from this perspective before, usually the one doing the taking down, and she wonders if it always looks so…attractive. Killian’s expression is what she can only describe as fierce, his mouth almost a predatory snarl, hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes, chest heaving with exertion. She sucks in another deep breath.  

 

Marcus reaches outwards, trying to crawl away with his remaining arm, fingers scraping against the concrete as he attempts to buck Killian off in an effort to escape.

 

“I have rights you know!” Marcus is yelling as Emma comes up. “This is a violation of my rights!”

 

“Yeah, well, we aren’t the cops, we don’t care about your rights,” Emma pants out. “Need any help?” She asks Killian. He looks like he has it under control, but he did bring her along for a reason.

 

Before he can answer Marcus lets out a snort, his eyes raking her body.

 

“Come to give your boyfriend a handsweetheart _?_ You let a lady do your dirty work for you, cripple _?_ ” Marcus looks briefly behind his shoulder at Killian and scoffs, turning back to give a leer that makes Emma’s skin crawl. “Why won’t you come over here baby, I have some dirty work you can give a _hand_ to.”

 

He lets out a wheeze as Killian digs his knee harder into his trapped arm and the small of his back just underneath it.  Killian yanks the handcuffs out of his pocket with a jerk and sets them on the pavement beside them.

 

Emma sees the ghost of an expression on his face at the word _cripple_ but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared, and honestly she’s not sure if it was there at all. She feels a flare of anger in her chest and before she realizes she’s even doing it, she is stepping forward, her boot digging into Marcus’s outstretched hand.

 

He cries out, trying to jerk his arm away but she digs down harder.  And Marcus gives a yell.

 

“Oh wow, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Emma growls out, giving one last twist of her heel before she steps off, letting Killian jerk the arm up, shoving it under his knee as well. He reaches over and grabs the handcuffs, flipping them open and securing them on Marcus’s wrists so quickly and efficiently Emma almost blinks and misses it.

 

“I’ll go get the car,” Emma says, looking to Killian. His face is a mask, his hand pressing down on Marcus’s neck to hold him to the ground, his knee still at his back. “You okay here?” He nods, but still doesn’t look at her, glaring down at the back of Marcus’s head.

 

Emma wants to reach out, to place a hand on his shoulder and tell him that it’s okay, that this guy is an idiot. She wants to grab him by the collar and firmly let him know that the tackle and subsequent subduing of their guy was one of the most impressive things Emma has seen in a long time, that not only was it impressive but it was _hot as hell._ She wants to tell him that it doesn’t _matter_.

 However, she does none of these things, she simply turns heel and goes to get the car.

 

_____

 

Marcus spouts profanities, and jerks around in the backseat the entire ride over to the police station, but this is nothing new. Emma is used to people throwing dramatic fits in the back of her vehicle while she drives. It’s part of the reason she installed the bolt on the floor in the first place, to prevent random kicks to her head from irate “customers” and to maintain some semblance of control in so small a space.

 

What she is _not_ used to is having a brooding partner in the passenger seat, silent and stoic next to her, his thoughts a million miles away, and that is what commands most of her attention on the drive.

 

Killian has barely spoken two words other than a few barked orders to Marcus, and a polite request for assistance with the leg irons to her. His face is still stony and neutral, his bad arm shoved into the pocket of his jacket, out of sight. Emma can’t remember if he’s done that before, if that’s just how he sits and she never noticed, or if it’s something more, a reaction to an insecurity dredged up by harsh words.

 Emma wishes she could step on Marcus’s hand again.  She settles for taking a turn a bit too sharply, sending Marcus careening into the glass.

 

Killian gives her a small smile.

 

_____

 

The police station is a buzz of activity, but they are seen quickly enough, Killian firmly holding Marcus by the cuffs behind his back, marching him forward to see about the wait with the officer in the holding area while she completes what she can of the paperwork for his intake. It’s unlikely he’ll be rebonded, and for that she is thankful.

 

“Emma Swan,” a heavily accented and familiar voice slides into the space next to her and Emma gives a smile looking up.

 

“Graham Humbert,” she says matter-of-factly, nudging his shoulder, “What are you doing down here with us mere mortals?”  She tilts her head towards him.

 

He grins at her, nudging her back.

 

“Thought I saw a certain yellow bug out in the parking lot and figured you were here bringing us back a wayward soul.”

 

Graham looks much the same as the last time she saw him, just before his promotion to detective, all curly haired Irish boyishness and easy charm.  It was a promotion that gave him his own office upstairs and a whole new part of town to work in, and their paths haven’t crossed since, his cases too high profile for the likes of their tiny firm, and hers too petty to warrant his attention. He wasn’t a friend exactly , they rarely interacted outside of the station, but he was approaching one.

 

There were a few shared dinners and holiday parties with mutual acquaintances over the years, but their relationship was mostly built upon snippets of conversations while he rode the intake desk when she brought in her skips and the occasional shared cup of coffee in the station breakroom during late night turn-ins. She didn’t have his number, he didn’t have hers, and other than a brief, drunken kiss at a station New Year’s Eve party she had been invited to several years back, nothing had ever happened with the two of them. Emma was pretty sure she didn’t ever want it to. He was good people, he had a good heart, he was a good sorta-friend, and she wasn’t sure if she could handle anything more. 

 

“Oh is that what we’re calling them now?” she smirks, finishing off the last bit of information before the signature line and the license number, leaving that for Killian so he can get paid. She was only joking when she threatened to take his share. And she had to admit he had done pretty much all of the work.  

 

“N’er do-wells then,” Graham leans back against the counter.

 

“Better,” she nudges his arm again, mimicking his posture. “So how have you been Humbert?”

 

“Never better, just doing my duty. Upholding the law, protecting the citizens of our fair city,” Graham gives her a fake salute and faux serious expression and Emma snorts rolling her eyes. He almost laughs but she watches as the smile slips from his face entirely at something just beyond them and Emma turns to see what’s caused the abrupt change in his mood.

 

Killian has come up to the counter Marcus Owens safely deposited in holding, her handcuffs and leg irons clasped in his hand but that dark, serious expression is back on his face and Emma wonders if Marcus said anything else. He shoves the gear into his pocket and gestures at them.

 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he gives them a smile that is all teeth and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just need to cross a few t’s and dot a few i’s and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

 

He slips between them, deliberately pushing Graham to the side with the action as he takes up the pen, looking over the paper.

 

“You filled it out for me? I’m flattered Swan,” he turns his smile to her, this time a bit more genuine, before he scrawls the last bit of information in with a flourish.

 

“Figured I’d make myself useful while I waited,” she murmurs, looking between both of them.

It appears that his dark expression is not because of Marcus at all but rather because of Graham. They both are practically radiating dislike, their shoulders tense, jaws clenched.

 

Emma swallows uncomfortably.  

 

“It certainly appears that you’ve kept yourself _occupied_ ,” he gives a pointed look to Graham, who glares at him.  

 

Emma opens her mouth to protest but Graham interrupts her.

 

“Actually, we _were_ talking, Jones. Still have a few things to cover actually,” Graham gently takes her elbow, pulling her away from the counter. “Emma do you have another second to spare?”

 

“Wish we could, but we best be going mate, see Emma and I are working together on something, partners now, you understand,” Killian’s smile is all false cheer. “Tick tock and all that.”

 

“It’s fine,” Emma says looking between the two men, rolling her eyes.  The last thing she signed up for was a pissing contest, and she might not be aware of the history between the two but it’s obvious they have one and it wasn’t pleasant. She gives Killian a pointed look of her own, daring him to challenge her. “I have a moment to spare.”  

 

Killian’s smile fades at the corners, and for a second he looks almost hurt but he recovers quickly, giving them both a smirk.

 

“Well if you need my assistance, you know where to find me,” he tilts his head at the row of chairs in the waiting area. Emma nods at him, trying to reassure him she’ll be right back, but Graham steps forward next to her, his hand going to her shoulder, locking eyes with Killian.

 

“Yea, if we need a hand we’ll let you know,” Graham is saying and Emma’s eyes widen, watching as Killian sucks in a sharp breath, his entire body freezing, his face taking on the darkest expression Emma has  seen in their entire acquaintance.

 

If looks could kill suddenly makes a lot of sense. 

 

She feels that pang in her chest again and she steps forwards towards him but he is at the same instant backing away.

 

Emma darts a look to Graham, wondering if it was intentional, her mind telling her that it couldn’t possibly be, that’s not Graham. Thankfully, he appears completely oblivious, confused even, at Killian’s reaction, his expression of dislike breaking for a moment and changing to concern.

 

The remark is just an innocent coincidence, but on the worst possible day, and Emma wishes she could be anywhere but here.

 

 Killian just gives an odd little bow. 

 

“Actually, I think I’ll wait by the car if it’s all the same to you, Swan?” he straightens up, his voice overpolite and strained, and he backs up. “See you in a bit.”

 

Before Emma can even open her mouth he has turned on his heel making his way down the corridor and out the swinging double doors.

 

_____

 

Graham’s office is small, and sparsely decorated, but it’s a far cry from the messy and chaotic shared desk he had on the floor below.  Emma gives a whistle, turning around as best she can in the small space.

“Fancy digs Humbert,” she motions to the small window. “You even have a view.”

 

Emma stands on her tiptoes peering out.

 

“Of what appears to be a very bold pair of prostitutes.” She hums appreciatively at the garishly clad women leaning against the building across the street, directly across from his window and turns back to him, eyebrow raised.

 

“That’s Jackie and Rhonda,” he smiles at her face. “They’re very nice.”

 

“Oh I’m sure,” Emma crosses her arms across her chest. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

 

Graham stops smiling almost immediately, turning grim and serious right before her eyes.

 

“It’s about Jones,” he sits in his seat, reaching over to idly play with the stress ball next to his computer monitor.

 

“What about him? I know you two were having some sort of macho pissing contest down there but-“ Graham holds up a hand cutting her off.

 

“You can’t trust him Emma,” he looks at her seriously. “He’s not a good guy. You don’t know him.”

 

Emma feels that same protective anger from earlier rising in her chest, the same urge to defend him.

 

“And you do?” she scoffs. “He’s not exactly Dudley Do-Right, but I’m no beacon of virtue either,” Emma realizes after a moment that sounds more like the defense of a relationship than a partnership and adds, “And we’re just working on this one case together, he just happened to get a call about Owens while we were out canvassing.”

 

“Jones has worked with some serious people, Emma, bad people, he might still be working for them for all we know,” Graham looks completely sincere in his worry, which throws Emma off even further. She thinks of Smee and Killian’s comment about them being “co-workers” and feels unease settle into her stomach.

 

She feels like she can trust Killiian, at least to a point, and he has seemed nothing but genuine this entire time. But Graham is also not one to over exaggerate, and his voice and his face betray no lie, he honestly believes that Killian is not to be trusted.

 

Killian had certainly never mentioned anything of the sort but then again she hadn’t asked and it hadn’t come up. She had just assumed that anyone wonderful, heroic, upstanding citizen, David trusted couldn’t be all bad.

 

Emma looks out the window again. Rhonda and  Jackie are now leaning against the building across the way, sharing a water between them, just two working women on a break, and she turns back to Graham.

 

“Even if he did some bad stuff back in the day, who hasn’t?” she swallows and shrugs.

 

Some of her own “bad stuff” flashes briefly through her head as she stares him down, daring him to argue with her further. She certainly shouldn’t be the one to condemn anyone for their past actions.

 

“I just want you to be careful,” Graham says softly. He holds up his hands in surrender and sighs.  “Just….keep an eye on him Emma and watch your back.”

 

______

 

When Emma gets down to her car Killian is nowhere to be found.

 

She half expects him to be leaning up against it, legs crossed at the ankles, looking all casual and cool, back to his usual insouciant self, the trials of the day forgotten.  She was all ready with a retort on her tongue as she rounded the corner, some quip about him always getting his man or similar, when she realizes he isn’t even there to quip at.

 

Her eyes scan the parking lot but she doesn’t see any sight of him, and Emma frowns, taking out her phone.

 

Sure enough there is text from him waiting and Emma glares down at it.

 

**No need to go out of the way on my account Swan. The office isn’t that far so I decided to walk over to pick up my vehicle. Ring if you have any new information from the lad. See you Saturday.**

Emma sighs, leaning her head momentarily on the side of her bug, her eyes closing briefly and then looking down at the ground by the curb. She breathes for a moment, her mind waging a silent battle. Should she let him go, just wait it out, and let him cool off? Or should she go after him, make sure he is okay. What was the proper etiquette for this situation?

 

 

She gives a kick at the curb, swearing to herself as he wrenches open the door and shoves her keys into the ignition.

 

“Stupid, stubborn, English bastard,” she yanks the gearshift as she pulls out, turning away from her home and heading down a different street entirely.  

 

It doesn’t take long to find him, long and lean, his strides jerky and tense, dressed in black and hunched over into himself as he walks down the street in the direction of their office, just a few blocks away.  Emma leans across the passenger seat to roll the window down, one hand keeping the car steady as she drives up next to him, keeping pace with his angry steps.

 

“Hey!” She leans over, yelling out the window, her attention darting between him and the road as she drives. He looks over in surprise, straightening immediately and slowing a bit but not stopping completely.  “Don’t you owe me lunch?”

 

It takes him a minute to register but a smile drifts slowly across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

 

“Aye, lass, indeed I do,” he calls and Emma stops the car looking at him expectantly. He alters his course, heading towards her, an eyebrow raised. “And it would be bad form indeed if I was to go back on our arrangement.”

 

“Right,” Emma gives him a look as he slides into the car.

 

Killian gives her a tiny, almost apologetic smile, and she returns it briefly before her face goes neutral again.

 

They drive in relative quiet for a few moments, not an uncomfortable silence, but a heavy one, significant almost, and it’s not for a while that Emma clears her throat.

 

“And don’t think for a second I was going to let you make off with my handcuffs.”

 

 


	4. Backroom Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma overhears a conversation and her suspicions grow.

Emma shouldn’t be surprised that Granny gives Killian a familiar nod in greeting when they enter the diner. He seems like the kind of person that would frequent such an establishment, looking like he just stepped out of a 1950’s advertisement warning about the dangers of reckless youth, and she can just picture him spending late nights brooding at the counter over black coffee and crispy hash browns. She chooses to ignore the look of surprise and curiosity that passes on the older woman’s face when she takes in Emma brushing past him as he holds open the door.

 

He slides into a booth near the rear like he owns it, arm slung lazily over the back, and Emma wonders briefly how often he comes here and why she hasn’t ever seen him here before. They work similar hours in their profession, and they both live in the same neighborhood, so it stands to reason she would have run into him at some point if he’s here often enough to warrant recognition from Granny, an honor they apparently share.

 

“Emma, Killian,” Emma looks up in surprise at the older woman who nods at each of them in turn. It is a rare day indeed when Granny can be pulled from her post behind the bar to take orders on the floor.  Emma glances at Killian who has plastered on his most charming smile, leaning over the vinyl booth towards the woman.

 

“Ah, my darling Ms. Lucas,” he is practically purring at her and Emma looks at him incredulous. “Love of my life. Can I just say you are looking particularly fetching today, my dear.” He ignores Granny’s rolling eyes and sends her a little wink in return.

 

“You can say it all you want, but I’m not buying it,” Granny observes them pointedly, taking in their still slightly disheveled appearances, Killian’s hair windswept and riotous on his head, curls peeking out of Emma’s hat, her hair a snarled mess after their chase.  

 

“Seems a little late in the day for a morning after breakfast date,” Granny looks at the clock. “Closer to the dinner hour even, I’m impressed Jones.”

 

Emma sputters for a second, face flaming as she shakes her head vigorously, eyes wide looking to Killian for assistance. Help that is not forthcoming unfortunately, Killian looks delighted.

 

“Aye, I can be rather impressive when the occasion demands it,” he says slyly, leaning back in the booth.

 

“We _work_ together Granny. He, _unfortunately_ , does skip tracing for David too,” Emma bites out through clench teeth.  “We just finished up at the police station.”

 

“Knew you had more sense than that, girl,” Granny waves her order pad at Emma, ignoring Killian’s noise of protest. “Now what will it be?”

 

She takes their orders, looking between them suspiciously the entire time, as if the truth of their acquaintance can be gleaned from their food preferences, silently letting them know that she doesn’t quite believe their reason for being here together, but she accepts their excuse, and heads back to her station behind the counter. Killian flashes that same charming grin at her before she goes and drops his menu behind the napkin holder with a flourish.

 

“How have I never noticed you here before?” Emma asks after a few moments of watching him fiddle with a coaster.

 

“My question exactly Swan. Break a man’s heart why don’t you,” Killian heaves a dramatic sigh, hiding his smile by looking down at the coaster moving nimbly between his fingers.

 

His other hand is hidden below the table, the sleeve tucked into the pocket of his jacket, which despite the relative warmth of the diner, he hasn’t removed.

 

That in and of itself is not unusual, she rarely sees him take the thing off, except for a memorable period of time this past summer when his concession to the intense heat was to wear form-hugging black v-neck tees to the office from time to time, all intriguing tattoos disappearing into fabric and well defined biceps straining against soft cotton fabric.

 

Emma had become well acquainted with the décor in David’s office during these visits, inspecting it perhaps more thoroughly than necessary to keep from embarrassing herself, but after the events of the day she wonders if his ever present jacket now has less to do with his desire to maintain that image of “cool rock star pirate” and more to do with his missing limb. It causes her heart to clench in her chest for a second and might contribute to what she says next.  

 

“Oh please, I’m sure you’re noticed plenty, looking like….you do,” Emma’s voice trails off as  across the table the coaster stops its journey between his fingers, and she looks up to find him staring at her, that stupid eyebrow up again.

 

“Oh really? Would you say I’m…noticeable, love?” Killian is starting to look sly again, and Emma huffs in exasperation.

 

“Pretty sure we had this conversation already,” Emma says wryly. “ _Captain_.”

 

“Oh, I do so love it when you call me Captain,” the words are said as a joke but the slower cadence of his voice, and the look on his face has something swooping low in her belly and she swallows, her memory flashing back to a different conversation entirely, one with handcuffs and heated looks, and she’s grateful when a waitress chooses that moment to slide a plate of grilled cheese and steaming onion rings across the table in front of her.

 

“So what’s the deal with you and Graham,” she asks after several minutes of slightly uncomfortable silence, deciding that being direct is probably her best bet. Killian is perceptive enough to see through any of her tricks and the encounter at the station is feeding into her natural curiosity, which is in no way helped by their brief run in with the very shady Smee and Killian’s own cryptic remarks. It makes her extremely uncomfortable this not knowing, Killian presenting her with a wholly different sort of mystery.

 

She watches him pause briefly in dipping his fries into the tiny pile of ketchup, gaze fixed on his plate. A muscle ticks in his jaw for a moment before he answers.

 

“As I’m sure you gathered, _Detective_ Humbertand I do not get along,” he says detective with a sneer, abandoning the fry on his plate and leaning back in his seat, chin tilting defiantly upwards. It’s like he’s readying himself for battle Emma realizes, going immediately from relaxed and eating to defensive and tense.

 

“No shit,” Emma says, dropping her own onion ring onto her plate.  “Why?”

 

“That, love, is between myself and the good Detective,” he says good with as sneer as well and Emma raises an eyebrow at him. His expression softens immediately at the look on her face, “It’s nothing to worry about Swan, just some old ghosts. I apologize for bringing you into it,” he offers her a weak smile. “It’s not a part of my history I’m particularly proud of, so if you don’t mind?”

 

He leaves the request to drop it unspoken but his eyes are practically pleading with her to leave it alone and after a moment she swallows thickly and relents, picking up her abandoned onion ring with one hand while simultaneously sliding the check on the edge of the table to his side.

 

“Don’t forget that this one is on you.”

_____

 

 

Emma doesn’t know if the ridiculous man always knocks cheerful songs on people’s doors to announce his arrival but she finds a melody tapped out on hers for the second time that week. She tugs down her dress in an effort to cover as much skin as possible, a futile effort for sure, and looks over to the mirror on the wall for a quick spot check of hair and makeup, a flush preemptively rising up her chest.

 

Jesus, she hasn’t even opened the door yet and already she is anticipating his reaction, wondering what expression she can expect on his overly expressive face after he takes her in.

 

It is one thing to flirt and exchange glances while she is shielded comfortably, ensconced in layers of cotton and leather, it is entirely different when there is so much skin on display. It seems that he is not the only ridiculous person at her place tonight. Inspection over, and for the most part deemed acceptable, she pulls it open.

 

And promptly bursts out laughing, her unfounded nervous anticipation gone in an instant.

 

Killian smirks, his eyebrow raising in amusement and question, but his gaze is hot as he sweeps her figure from the toes of her too high shoes to the hem of her too short skirt. She watches his tongue slowly come to rest in the corner of his mouth as he takes her in.

 

“You look like a complete tool,” Emma says after a beat.

 

“And you look absolutely stunning Swan,” his smile shifts from pure sex to something more innocent and more genuine. “Come on, give us a spin, darling.” 

 

Emma rolls her eyes but reluctantly obliges, giving a half-hearted shuffle in a circle and then motions for him to do the same, quid pro quo after all.   

 

He does a dramatic twirl in the hallway, skinny jeans and a white, not black, v-neck, filling this one out just as nicely from what she can see. The problem with his appearance, however, lies with the ridiculously skinny black scarf wrapped around his neck and the matching fedora on top of his head. The fedora that he dramatically takes off when he’s finished his twirl, tipping it out towards her with a small bow.

 

“Do I pass muster milady?” He straightens, obviously amused with himself, pulling the hat back over the mess of black hair underneath.

 

“Depends, is the look you’re going for “will definitely roofie your drink” or “anti-feminist douchenozzle?” Emma asks stepping aside to let him in.

 

“Let’s settle on somewhere in the middle shall we?  I am, let’s say, well known to some of the employees, so I wanted to remain inconspicuous. Blending in with the most likely clientele seemed prudent,” he gives himself an appraising look in the mirror. “Honestly Swan, I think I look quite dashing.” He pulls the tip of the hat down lower and shoots her reflection a saucy grin.

 

“Right, dashing,” she rolls her eyes again and is just about to grab her coat when his actual words start to register. “What do you mean you’re “well known to the employees”?” She meets his gaze in the mirror again, brow furrowing.  “I thought this place was pretty new?”

 

Killian shrugs and looks away, adjusting his scarf.

 

“I’ve picked up a few of Malcom’s associates before. I believe they think that being in his employ makes them above such petty inconveniences like court hearings,” something about his answer doesn’t ring entirely true with Emma but he isn’t lying either.

 

It is then she notices his hand, a very realistic looking prosthetic in its place. She has seen him come into the office with a few different kinds of prosthetics before, but since they began their partnership she’s noticed he hasn’t worn anything at all. She wonders at that, is itching to ask, but the etiquette for that escapes her and the focus on it the past few days has her more than mildly uncomfortable broaching the subject just to satisfy her own curiosity. 

 

He sees her glance in the mirror and smiles at her.

 

“Part of the blending, love, realistic, no?” He looks down at it.

 

Emma just nods.

 

“So what’s the plan when we get there?” Emma reaches for her coat but finds that Killian is faster, grabbing it off the back of one of her barstools, and helping her into it, holding it by the collar so she can slip her arms inside. It is a very gentlemanly gesture, one that she hasn’t really experienced before but she keeps her voice neutral. “I take point at the bar, you wander the floor?”

 

“Aye, probably our best bet for adequate coverage, from what I’ve heard it’s a pretty popular establishment. Once we get an idea of the layout and exits we can reevaluate,” he looks down at her, reaching over to gather her curls in his hand, pulling them from the collar, his fingers brush her neck and she swallows trying to keep her face as neutral as her voice.

 

“Well I’ve got my taser and my cuffs if things get rough,” she says and steps away. Killian blinks at her and sweeps her form again.

 

“And where, exactly, would those be darling?”

  
Emma just gives him an enigmatic smile, grabbing her purse and her keys off the counter and sauntering out of the apartment.

 

 

_____

 

“Happy Endings” reminds Emma of everything she loathes about the club scene within seconds of arrival. It’s all loud, pulsing techno, shouted conversations, flashing lights and the sense that no matter where you are, someone is always touching you. Give her dimly lit dive bars with quiet, ambient music and a blanket of anonymity any day. 

 

Getting in had been ridiculously easy, and a bit flattering if Emma was perfectly honest, the bouncer at the door taking no more than a quick glance at her ID, stamping her hand and waving her inside almost immediately upon her arrival in the line. She could only hope that Killian had it just as easy.

 

Making her way to the bar is more difficult, but once she makes it through the crush of wildly flailing bodies and people swaying drunkenly into each other, she finds a seat easily enough, catching the bartender’s eye.

 

He is not Samuelson but he has the same look about him, that slightly feral look of a hard life and teenage years gone horribly wrong. He’s like a tomcat, prowling around behind the counter with a dark scowl and shifty eyes. It’s the same look of several of the employees she’s seen so far.

 

“Jack and Coke,” she yells over the noise, sliding a twenty across the marble. He holds it up to the light, giving her a silent nod and a quick perusal before slipping away to make her drink.

 

She takes the opportunity to do a survey of her own. It’s hard to make out specific faces, the room keeps flashing between dark and light and strobes with vibrant colors that twist features and cast people into shadows, but she tries anyway, looking for anyone that is even close to Felix’s appearance.

 

The bartender sets her drink down with another appreciative sweep of her form and Emma smiles in thanks, dropping it as soon as he turns to assist someone else. She takes the glass in hand, planning to nurse it as slowly as possible, as she checks out the establishment.

 

It’s pretty standard as far as clubs go, this one is two levels, with a main bar area and dance floor on the one below and one VIP section in an alcove above. It’s all very industrial and warehouse-esque but there are some curtained off areas to the side that Emma guesses are more formal chill out spaces with couches and tables and the like, a corridor with what are no doubt restrooms, and what looks like a backroom or kitchen area off to the side.

 

There is only one point of actual entry that she can see, guarded by the two hulking bouncers she passed on her way in, but there are a number of exits along the walls and she makes a note of each one.

 

Her skin is crawling with the need to investigate, to push her advantage and see if she can gain entry upstairs to the VIP area, but they had already decided to take it slow and easy: Emma keeping an eye out from the bar, seeing if she could get any information from the bartenders with her charms, Killian working his way through the people on the floor and the publically accessible areas, a task she did not envy him, watching the sweaty and gyrating bodies on the floor with distaste.

 

She takes another sip of her drink, turning her attention to the bartender. He is occasionally glancing her way, and each time Emma either looks away, trying to appear as if she is doing it just a second too late, or she smiles shyly down at her drink, faking nervousness by fiddling with the napkin he’d given her. It’s a tactic that has worked well in the past, this middle school style courtship, and it’s not long before he ambles over, all cocky swagger.

 

“Aw, you’re all alone sweetie,” he leans across the bar, yelling slightly to be heard. “I can keep you company till your date gets here if you want.” It’s such an obvious dig for her status that Emma feels the physical ache of not rolling her eyes. Instead she leans forward, tucking her hair demurely behind her ears with her free hand.

 

It is then she spots Killian, across the bar, just over her bartender’s shoulder and he flashes her a quick wink and gives her a slight nod as he slips through the crowd.

 

“Oh! No date, not for me,” she says loudly with a fake nervous laugh and twirls her glass in place. “But I’d certainly appreciate the company. If you won’t get in trouble that is.”

 

“Nah, my boss is upstairs in the lounge, can’t even see me down here, besides, he’d want me to make sure you’re taken care of,” he leans his elbows on the bar, giving some kind of signal to the other bartender who nods, apparently they have some kind of pre-established system for hitting on women. His hair is greasy under the lights, and the expression on his face makes her want to punch him, but Emma has dealt with worse and she smiles instead.

 

She can see Killian along the edge of the crowd now, finding him immediately. He is blending in very well, smiling when it’s appropriate, making small movements to the music as he walks, a bottle of beer in his hand, working the perimeter of the room. He looks relaxed outwardly but she can tell that he is on alert, keeping his back to the wall, his eyes sweeping the faces of the crowd cataloguing and dismissing them as he works his way through. The other patrons of the establishment certainly don’t find his outfit ridiculous, there is more than one person eyeing his form appreciatively.

 

“That’s so nice of you, oh my god,” she titters loudly, turning her attention back to the bartender, and takes a tiny sip of her drink. He leans even closer and she follows, giving her lips a slow deliberate lick that he follows with his eyes.

So easy.

 

“So whats your name? I’m Mikey,” he smiles at her.

 

“Alexis. A friend of mine said he worked here but I haven’t seen him? That’s why I came really, he told me there was a thing going on, but I’m glad I did, even if he kind of abandoned me,” Emma says with a pout.

 

“Oh yeah, who’s your friend?”

 

 

“Oh! Felix, do you know Felix?” She smiles. “Tall, long blonde hair?”  She puts her hand up to her shoulder and the guy, Mikey, nods.

 

“Oh yeah Felix, I know that guy, usually comes in with the boss. Sometimes he comes in, tries to tell us what to do, thinks he’s a hotshot just cause he’s Mr. Malcom’s assistant,” he seems to catch himself. “Sorry, I know he’s a friend of yours.”  Emma shrugs and turns her face into something sympathetic.

 

“I’m sure that’s frustrating, and trust me I know how Felix can be,” she lies easily.  “I do want him to know I didn’t just flake out on him though, and he doesn’t seem to be answering my texts. Do you think he’s up in the lounge too?”

 

She watches out of her periphery as Killian comes out from behind the curtain of one of the chill out rooms, catching her eye across the room and giving a slight shake of his head. Not in there.  

  
The guy is shrugging at her question and leaning further into her space.

 

“Haven’t seen him today, he might have snuck past me, but I can give you the private tour later, see if we can spot him. I have a break soon and there’s lots of places we can just hang out, get to know each other better,” he punctuates this invitation by trailing his fingers coyly along Emma’s arm and it takes a lot for her not to jerk it away and keep her smile in place.

 

 “Oh wow! That would be so cool, I’ve never been a VIP before,” he does it again and Emma wants to smash her drink upside his head, but she settles for a vapid giggle instead.

 

“A girl as hot as you? No way, I don’t believe that for a second,” he is saying but her attention is on Killian, more specifically on Killian slipping down a hallway she is positive is just for employees, and out of her sight. She wants to curse, that wasn’t what they agreed upon, but instead she just smiles broadly at Mikey.

  
“Sadly it’s true. Listen, can you hold my seat for a sec? I’ll be right back, gotta use the little girl’s room,” she giggles at him again and he nods.

 

“Hurry back,” he is saying and she sends him another smile, slipping off the barstool.

 

She keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the hallway Killian disappeared down, waiting for his reappearance, and her anxiety climbs with each second that ticks by where he doesn’t emerge. She hesitates for a moment, unzipping her purse to quickly access the taser inside.

 

The hallway appears to lead to a set of bathrooms, long lines of people emerging and curving around the corner or idling along the edges. At the end is a pair of swinging double doors, the Employee’s Only sign on the right one indicating what lies beyond them. Killian is not amongst those waiting in line and this time she does curse as she makes her way down the hallway, slowly pushing open one of the doors when she reaches them and peering inside with a quick glance behind her to make sure none of those in the restroom lines or leaning against the walls are paying her any attention.

 

She slips into the room, rows and rows of metal shelving full of cardboard boxes and glass bottles of liquor fill it from one end to the other. She strains her ears, just about to hiss out Killian’s name when she hears them.

 

Emma ducks behind one of the shelves, hunkering down behind some boxes as best she can in her short skirt, edging her way forward.

 

One of the voices is Killian’s she realizes after a moment, recognizing his distinctive accent and he is, from what she can hear, extremely angry. The other voice she doesn’t recognize, it’s not Felix’s and it’s not Smee’s, but he certainly seems familiar to Killian, if their rapid and hushed conversation is anything to go by.

 

Emma slides forward slowly, putting her heels down deliberately with each movement to keep them from clacking against the concrete floor, straining her ears to hear what’s being said.

 

“-owe you anything,” the unknown speaker is saying. “I should just go tell him you’re snooping around here right now. Bet he’d love to know.”

 

“You and I both know you won’t do that,” Killian is saying through clenched teeth. “You stand to lose just as much as me if he finds out exactly what you’ve been up to, Pockets,” Killian bites out. “I think if he paid a bit more attention to his inventories he’d find out the truth, would he not?”

 

“I don’t do that anymore,” even Emma can tell the man is lying from where she hunches behind the shelves. “Don’t need too, he pays me well enough.”

 

“Now, now, old friend, no need to lie,” Killian murmurs, Emma barely able to make out his words. “Where is Felix?”

 

The man, Pockets, apparently, scoffs.

 

“I told you Jones, he’s not here. The old man came in alone tonight,” Pockets makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds a lot like disgust.

 

“Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to give you my card, and when you see him again you’re going to call me,” she hears rustling, Killian presumably pulling out his card. “And you’ll tell no one about this little exchange, aye?” This is more forceful, a thinly veiled threat in his tone.

 

“And what’s in it for me?” Pockets asks. 

 

Emma peers through the bottles, the two men are standing close together behind a shelf just a few rows away, Killian’s jaw clenched so tightly she can see the flex of muscle even across the room.

 

He steps in even closer to the man’s space. Killian is much taller, the other man at least a foot shorter and much rounder, and Killian leans over, deliberately forcing the man backwards. It’s an intimidation tactic, one meant to incite fear, and from the way the man’s hands shake at his sides, it’s working.  

 

“Do you remember,” Killian’s voice is a low growl that sends a shiver down Emma’s spine. It’s not fear exactly, but interest, and more than a little curiosity, and she leans in closer as well, holding her breath. “What I did to Rufio?”

 

Emma’s brows furrow in question and she watches at the man swallows, his eyes going even wider.

 

“I-I-I’ll call, if I see him alone I’ll call,” Pockets says quickly, nodding at the card and shoving it nervously into the pocket of his jeans.

 

Killian flashes a bright, extremely false smile and leans back.

 

“See that you do,” he gives him a pat on the shoulder and steps back. “Pleasure seeing you again mate. Look forward to hearing from you.”

 

Emma slides around the corner of the shelf just in time to avoid Killian seeing her as he passes on his way out of the room, more than likely heading back into the club proper. She ducks behind another set of boxes, listening to Pockets let out a few sobbing breaths, not daring to move until the other man follows him out.

 

She takes a deep breath of her own, mind racing. She isn’t quite sure what she just stumbled upon but she’s pretty certain it’s not good, unease and suspicion settling heavy on her shoulders.

 

She swallows and straightens, confident the room is empty, and makes her way back to the double doors. No doubt Killian will wonder where she is when he doesn’t see her at the bar.

 

_____

 

Emma doesn’t make it more than five steps out of the storage room when she feels a body pressing her gently but insistently against the wall, a hand bracing itself next to her head, effectively boxing her in. She rears back, about to lash out, assuming it is the overly friendly bartender Mikey, when she looks up into too blue eyes and his now familiar scent fills her nose.

 

“Snooping are we, lass?” his voice is low, that same gruff growl, and his breath is hot against her lips.   Emma looks at him defiantly. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop.” She can _feel_ the pop of the P at the end he’s so close.

 

“And what exactly are _you_ doing Jones?” her voice is accusing and she watches his eyes go steely.

 

“Obtaining a valuable asset for us,” he bites out. “An inside man if you will.”

 

“Sounded an awful lot like you were threatening an employee from where I was standing,” Emma raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t try to move away.

 

He is so close, his chest brushing her breasts, and she watches the long line of his throat work as he swallows, but it’s not uncomfortable, and it’s easier to talk this way with all the noise. At least that’s what she tells herself as she places a hand on his waist, squeezing him in warning. To anyone looking down the hallway they are a just couple stealing a private moment.  

 

“Good, that was the intent,” he gives her that same false smile, his eyes flickering briefly down towards her hand. “I suppose I haven’t lost my _touch_.”

 

“Who is he?” Emma gives him a fake smile of her own, this one all sarcasm. “Another former co-worker?”

 

“Aye,” he seems unwilling to offer any more information and Emma glares and squeezes his side harder in warning. He sucks in a breath and glares. “Pockets is intimately acquainted with both Gold and Samuelson and I just happen to know his weakness. I saw him slip back here and I followed him, seemed like a good idea make use of him.” He licks his lips, and Emma watches the movement frowning. He’s telling the truth, no hint of a lie, but there is still that feeling of unease that has taken root between her shoulder blades.  

 

“Who’s Rufio?” she asks after a moment and she can feel him freeze against her.

 

It’s another moment before he moves, and when he does it’s not what she expects.  

 

His head tilts in towards hers, hand leaving the wall to pick up one of her curls from where it rests on her shoulders, his eyes focused and intent on his task.  He rubs the lock idly between thumb and pointer before moving it slowly and deliberately away from her neck, his arm moving back up to brace against the wall. He leans in even closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear and Emma can’t stop the shudder that moves through her at his proximity. She daren’t even breathe, unsure if the thudding of her heart in her chest is entirely hers or his.

 

“Gold is at the end of the corridor,” he murmurs and Emma starts, her head trying to jerk to the side but he presses into her with his arm stilling the movement.  “Don’t look. He hasn’t spotted us yet.”

 

He is practically nuzzling her neck now, the gesture affectionate and intimate, his hat brushing the side of her head, but his voice is all business.   

 

“I doubt he’d recognize you, love, me on the other hand,” every word he speaks brushes firmly against her neck, and each time it sends sends a jolt of something straight down her spine. It is really not the time, but she finds herself pressing her hips forward slightly, almost against her will, and she smiles slightly when she hears the sharp intake of his breath.

 

“What do we do?” Emma whispers into his ear before tilting her head back and closing her eyes, hoping she looks the very picture of someone trying to take advantage of the darkened corner of a club with someone they’ve just met.

 

“Well I have no objections to following this plan through darling,” he murmurs still pressed into the curve of her shoulder, and he sucks in a breath through his nose. 

 

Emma swallows and shifts again, he is overwhelming her senses, pressed knee to shoulder as he is, lips hovering just above her skin and Emma feels it prickle underneath in anticipation.

 

“We need an _actual_ plan Jones,” Emma wishes her voice didn’t sound so breathless, and hopes he blames it on her trying to whisper over the music. “And this is not a “makeout so the guards walk right by you” scenario by the way.”

 

“Pity that,” he rumbles against her and Emma feels her heart stutter. “Is he still there?” 

 

Emma’s eyes dart to the side spotting the man in question immediately.

 

Malcom Gold is a much older man, with curling reddish brown hair tinged with silver, and a thick matching beard. His suit is expensive and crisply pressed, expression stern as he speaks to one of the scantily clad waitresses a little ways away from the entrance of the hallway.  

 

“Yeah, but he’s not looking this way.”

 

Killian pulls back slightly, still keeping his face turned away towards her but he shuffles backwards, enough that Emma can breathe normally again, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment at the loss of contact.

 

“Okay lass, I’m going to hide meself in the line for the restroom until he leaves, you head back to the bar and we’ll rendezvous in the parking lot in ten minutes.”

 

“What about Samuelson?” Emma looks at him startled and he shakes his head.

  
“Not here I’m afraid. Pockets said Gold came in alone and he hasn’t seen Samuelson all day. But he _will_ call me when he sees Felix. Inside man, just like I said.” Killian gives a quick glance to the restroom, careful to keep his head turned away.  “Ready love?”

 

Emma gives him a jerky nod and a moment later he is gone from her side leaving her cold, quickly darting across and slipping into the line for the Men’s restroom.

 

Emma runs a smoothing hand down her hair and sucks in a deep breath.

  
Her heart is still pounding rapidly, but she wills her feet to move, shoving Killian from her thoughts.

 

She casually avoids looking directly at Gold as she stalks back to the bar and the waiting sleazy bartenders. Gold has never met her and has no reason to know her, and sure enough he barely gives her a glance as she passes, too wrapped up in lecturing the young woman in front of him.

 

When she reaches the bar Emma moves to the opposite side, standing a bit further back so as not to engage  Mikey again, and tries to get her head in order.

 

 

She slides another bill across the bar, asking the other bartender for a shot of whisky this time, straight, and she downs it in one quick, burning, gulp to steady to her nerves.

 

Killian had never actually answered her question, his timing impeccable, his avoidance obvious.

 

Emma isn’t sure what to make of his apparent tension but she know that it doesn’t bode well, the feeling of unease and dread rising with every new thing she learns about him: first Smee, then Graham, shady threats in the backrooms of even shadier nightclubs, and now cryptic names full of dark history.

 

She clenches her fist, slamming the glass back on the bar, causing a girl nearby to jump, and makes a resolution.

 

Killian Jones is going to start talking.

 

 

 

 

  

     

 

 

 


	5. Employment History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma's suspicions about her new partner are addressed but new ones come in to take their place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to tnlph for taking a look at this for me. It really meant a lot. Everyone should go read everything she has ever written because it is wonderful.

_____

 

Emma had hoped to ease him gently into the conversation. No use putting him on the defensive immediately.

 

Negotiating information out of reluctant people was her job. She was good at it. She excelled at it.

 

Interrogation preparations begin by staring at herself in the Bug’s rear view mirror, practicing different facial expressions to perfect exactly the right look: the “understanding but firm”, the “neutral face devoid of expression to put him at ease”, or maybe the “small but encouraging smile.”

 

After a moment’s contemplation she gives her breasts a hike up as well. She knows what she's doing and who she’s dealing with.

 

The rest of the time spent waiting for him to emerge from the club is consumed with carefully selecting her words. She wants him to know that she comes from a place of trust.

 

She isn't jumping to conclusions; she isn’t flying off the handle. She merely wants an explanation. She just wants him to let her in so she can better understand the situation. That's all.

 

She wants to make him understand why she _needs_ to know.

 

What comes out when he finally slides into the car is much, much different.

 

“What the fuck, Jones?” Emma winces at herself, wanting to curse her inability to keep her cool, but clenches her hands on the steering wheel instead, unable to push down the rising swell of anger at seeing him.

 

“Pardon?” He blinks, surprised, and cautiously reaches back to grab his seat belt.

 

“What the hell was that in there?”

 

The anger doesn’t seem to be ebbing at all, merely washing over her in waves as she takes in the tense set of his jaw and the flexing of his fingers against his thigh.

 

“You’ll have to be much more specific, sweetheart. I thought we covered this in the corridor already, or is there some new grievance I am, as yet, unaware of?”

 

His expression, a look that could only be described as resigned, and the accompanied dramatic roll of his eyes makes her want to punch him more than she ever has before, and she can think of several infuriating occasions in the past where only physical restraint on her part kept her from doing so.

 

Emma opts instead for angrily cranking the engine, the rational part of her brain realizing that hanging out in the parking lot of a club, owned by an organized crime boss they don't necessarily want to run into, probably isn't the best idea.

 

“I need you to tell me what is going on with you.” Emma takes the turn out of the lot, her eyes darting from the road to him every few seconds as she drives. He says nothing so Emma keeps talking.

 

“First Graham warns me off you. Then I find out that apparently you’re friends with William Smee, who, news flash, isn't the most law abiding citizen, and now you’re threatening people named ridiculous things in back rooms?”

 

Killian just shakes his head slightly as he looks out the window, as if _he_ is the frustrated one, as if he is the one who can't make her understand, as if _she_ is the problem here and Emma feels something in her snap.

 

She jerks the wheel, a short squeal of tires as she takes a sharp right into the next available entrance way. It's a closed down gas station,

dark and empty, and she brings them to a stop in front of a blacked out pump, killing the bug’s lights with a smack of her palm.

 

Objectively Emma can _feel_ herself becoming hysterical, confusion and an impending sense of a potential future betrayal keeping her from

remaining calm. But knowing something is happening and controlling it are two completely different things and she can feel the panic rising in her chest. Outside of the surreal atmosphere of the club, his suspicious behavior as of late seems even worse.

 

She takes a deep breath.

 

“I need you to tell me the truth, Killian.”

 

Killian is still looking away from her, out of the window and into the night, but he jolts at the use of his first name, and she can see him closing his eyes in the reflection from the glass.

 

It doesn't seem like he's going to say anything at first, the only noise in the car the loud whirring of the heater and the click, click, click of her forgotten turn signal for several agonizing moments. She opens her mouth to reprimand him again, but he beats her to the punch.

 

His words have obviously been selected with much care, spoken deliberately and slow, but still he stares out the window, refusing to look at her, and that makes her even more uneasy.

 

“I assure you, Emma, I am merely trying to find Felix Samuelson, same as you. I saw an opportunity to obtain a resource for information and I took it.”

 

She can't detect any lies in his voice so they are off to a good start. She presses further.

 

“Who’s Rufio?” His fist clenches on his leg, his eyes in the reflection falling briefly closed again, and again he takes another moment before he answers.

 

“He, like Mr. Smee, and the charming fellow you saw me conversing with in that storage room, is a former coworker of mine.”

 

“And what happened to him? You told that guy you did something to him. What did you do?”

 

This time he just lets out a long breath, facing a bit more forward, looking out the windshield at the orange streetlamp-lit lot beyond, but he is still hasn’t looked at _her_.

 

There is another beat of silence, the heated vents blowing ridiculously loud in the small space, but Emma can still hear his intake of -air as he decides how best to answer.

 

“Let's just say he was taking things from my employer and using them for personal gain. I noticed the theft and alerted my superiors in an attempt to-” he cuts himself off, sucking in through his teeth for a moment, “-curry favor at a time when I needed it.”

 

“So you ratted him out.”

 

“Yes, I _ratted_ him out as you so eloquently put it, and because of my disloyalty, or rather, my loyalty, depending on which direction you view it, he was let go,” he sounds absolutely disgusted with himself, running his hand through his hair and looking out the window once more.

 

Emma clutches her hands in her lap in an attempt to tamp down the urge to reach out and touch him. Her fingers twitching with the need to offer him some comfort after asking him to reveal something that was obviously a point of shame for him but she very much doubts it would be welcome right now nor does she have the courage to attempt such a thing. The night has already been filled with confusing touches and feelings. She tries a different tactic.

 

“Well that doesn't sound that bad, so you got the guy fired, no big deal.”

 

“From what I understand he was _persona non grata_ from that point forward, unable to obtain a new,” he pauses, considering, “position, anywhere in this town, and he left shortly thereafter. He was an orphan, no family, and no friends outside the organization, and I took that away from him.” Killian finally turns giving her a bright false smile that is there and gone in a flash. “So I felt that Pockets might wish to avoid the same fate and would be receptive to an exchange of information for my continued silence.”

 

Emma is quiet for a moment, processing.

 

Every word he said rang completely true, he wasn't lying, which made her feel marginally better, but at the same time she couldn't shake the sense that he was holding quite a bit back, omitting _most_ of the actual story.

 

“I'm assuming this “work” was for Gold?” Emma can see she's right by the expression on his face and the way he scrubs his palm across it with a sigh.

 

“You assume correctly, but if you don't mind, I’d prefer if we glossed over the finer details,” Killian does look at her now, eyes darker and more intense in the orange light, pleading with her. “Surely, you, of all people, can understand why.”

 

Emma bristles slightly at “you of all people” but she understands his meaning and he's not wrong. She isn't exactly forthcoming and open about her own past and on the rare occasions she had cause to bring it up she preferred to keep things as vague as possible. That doesn't mean, however, she is comfortable with him _knowing_ that about her, or okay with him bringing it up.

 

“And this work, are you done doing it?” She watches him carefully and is relieved to see the utter conviction on his face.

 

“That's not my life anymore. That man has no power over me any longer.”

 

“And-” Emma takes a deep breath, and it's her turn to stare out the window at the empty street outside before she asks her next question. She doesn't want to, it reveals so much, she has to be _sure. “_ What ever is going on, it isn't going to come back on me in anyway, legally or anything, right?”

 

“Absolutely not. Emma. Look at me.” His voice sounds so sincere, pleading, obviously hearing in her own how upset and worried she is, and she turns back to face him. “None of that has anything to do with you, nor will it. I won't let that happen.” Emma blinks at the ferocity of his voice, something sharp appearing in the back of her throat and she swallows.

 

“Okay. Just-” Emma plucks at the material of her dress, struggling to find the words, “-if we’re going to be working together you cannot lie to me, and you can’t keep important things from me. I don't really care what you’ve done, I don't give a shit what happened in the past, I just don't want to find myself on the wrong side of this ,” _again_ she almost says out loud, but clamps it down before it can escape.

 

There have been enough emotional truths and revisited history in this vehicle tonight.

 

“I just want to make this capture and make sure David doesn't lose this bond.”

He nods solemnly in understanding and Emma feels the childish urge to take his pinky in her own and force him to swear an oath on it but she settles for doing her best to maintain eye contact and shrugging awkwardly instead.

 

“I promise, I will tell you as much as I am able and I will not involve you in this any further. I had no intention of involving you in the first place.” Again his words are carefully chosen and obviously purposefully evasive, but Emma lets it slide as he doesn't look away, his stare so intense and earnest she imagines she could feel it in her very soul if such a thing exists.

 

They both look away at the same moment, uncomfortable, Killian clearing his throat.

 

There is silence once again and they both stare out into the night for a few beats.

 

“Okay,” Emma breathes deeply, “Now, where to? Back to my place?”

 

She can practically feel his eyebrow raising and the smirk overtaking his face, balance and order once again restored to the universe,  and she huffs in annoyance, cranking the engine again.

 

“Save it Jones, where to?”

 

“Granny’s, I find myself quite famished after that bit of mild excitement,” he rests his hand on his flat stomach briefly and smiles. “My treat. Unless you object? Consider it an apology for ruining your evening.”

 

“No objections here, but what is _with you_ and feeding me?” She turns the vehicle around in the lot, pulling out onto the main road. “It's weird.” She considers for a moment. “But it is good for my bank account so if you want to fund all of our outings during this case that's fine too.”

 

“Careful Swan, too many more shared meals where I foot the bill and people might be under the mistaken impression we’re “going steady” as they say,” he smiles briefly at her eyeroll but quickly turns serious once again. “I do, however, want to apologize for my rash decision, I should have consulted you first, but Pockets will come through, I assure you.”

 

“First, no one says that, what are you, a hundred? And second, he better because he's our best bet at the moment,” Emma pulls into the space.

 

“Trust me, love, _no_ _one_ would want Malcom Gold to find out they’ve been deceiving him or worse stealing from him. I can say that with utmost certainty. He’ll call.”

 

_______

 

The diner is practically empty when they arrive, just a few older men sipping black coffee at the bar, and a surprisingly subdued trio of college age kids absorbing the excess alcohol in their systems with greasy potatoes and pancakes.

 

There is no one working that Emma recognizes this late in the evening, two waitresses making the rounds and mopping down countertops. All the better because dodging Granny’s pointed looks and easing her suspicions regarding the two of them would be particularly difficult dressed as they are tonight.

 

“Good evening Maggie my love,” Killian is already smiling charmingly at one of the waitresses, reaching up to affectionately tap the order pad in her hand. “Treating you alright?”

 

The woman, middle aged and world weary, gives him a smile and a small swat with the pad.

 

“Been awhile since I seen you here this late Mister Jones. Thought you done forgot about me,” she leans her hip on the booth next to Emma and smiles down at her. “And who is this pretty little thing? Nice to meetcha, I'm Maggie.”

 

Maggie holds out her hand, taking in Emma’s outfit as Emma reaches up to shake it. Maggie’s brow lifts a bit at her choice of attire, but there is no judgement on her face, just a pleasant smile and a curious look between the two of them.

 

More pleasantries are exchanged, orders are taken, and Maggie drifts away to do coffee refills for the few remaining patrons and get the kitchen started on their food. Killian smiles fondly after her before turning his attention back to Emma, already reaching out to fidget with the cardboard coaster.

 

He reminds her of a puppy, constantly fidgeting and bouncing,  full of energy one moment, morose and sad, paws on his nose kind of melancholy the next.

 

She shakes the thought from her brain, comparing him to cute animals is not the best way to maintain professional distance especially with the high running emotions of the evening, and the _incident_ in the corridor.

 

“Seriously, how have I not seen you here before?” She asks him incredulously, choosing much safer ground than the current direction of her thoughts.

 

Killian nods down at his hand looking amused, like he's been waiting for her to ask, and he lays the coaster flat on the table.

 

“I don't often take my meals _in_ the diner proper. I happen to live upstairs,” he points a finger upwards and looks at the ceiling above them.

 

“You live here?” Emma looks up as well, as if she could see through the ceiling above into his room.

 

“During the colder months at least. A few weeks here and there. Granny has rooms to rent for a not unreasonable weekly rate. She usually leaves one open for me and I take advantage of her good nature,” he winks at her. “I secretly think she does it because she likes me.” He whispers conspiratorially.

 

“She’d be the first,” Emma looks away to hide her smile at his affronted, but honestly slightly adorable expression, pretending to be interested in the specials board. “Wait, where do you live during the “not cold” months?” Emma abruptly turns her attention back to him, his words sinking in. “Please don't tell me your truck.”

 

Killian laughs.

 

“Close enough I suppose, I have a boat I keep in a slip down at the marina. That’s where I live most of the year, until the winter becomes too harsh to manage it.”

 

“Oh my god, you really _do_ think you’re a pirate,” Emma laughs shaking her head in disbelief. Killian looks delighted at the sound.

 

He then proceeds to _leer_ at her, leaning further across the table between them.

 

“I told you I was lead pirate captain material Swan,” the lower rumble of his voice, and the tongue coming out to trace a path across his bottom lip has her shifting in her seat, the air changing immediately. She feels her lips parting slightly, body leaning unconsciously forward in the booth towards his. She remembers the feel of his mouth on her neck, whispering words into her skin in the dark hallway of the club and she flushes.

 

The shadow of Maggie comes towards them in the corner of her eye and Emma rears back, giving a nervous cough and looking up at the approaching woman as she's been caught red handed.

 

“I'm sure you’re the very model of a modern Major General,” she says quickly, greeting Maggie with an overly bright smile when she arrives.

 

“Hail Poetry, thou heaven born maid,” Killian murmurs and sits back in his own seat, flashing a pained smile to woman as she slides his plate of food in front of him. Emma glances at him curiously, about to ask what that means, but the buzz of her phone in her pocket cuts off that line of questioning.

 

She takes it out, looking at the display to see a number she doesn't recognize, local but unknown to her. With a frown she gives the answer button a swipe, bringing it up to her ear.

 

“Hello?” Killian looks up from his food, his face a question. He sets down his fork, glancing at the clock and noting the lateness of the hour.

 

“Yes I am looking for Emma Swan, or even better, the proprietor of _Nolan_ _Bail_ _Bonds_ ,” a woman demands, her voice haughty as she says each name with thinly veiled disgust.

 

“Who’s looking?” Emma can hear the woman sigh, exasperated, and when she speaks again it's with disdain and barely controlled rage.

 

“My name is Regina Mills, more importantly, I’m the mother of the little boy whose life was endangered by her negligence and irresponsibility.”

 

_Henry_.

 

“What do you mean endangered? Did something happen?” Emma can't keep the note of hysteria out of her voice, a million possibilities flitting through her head at once. Has Felix found out they’d asked him to listen? Had they hurt him? If anything happened to that kid it would be her fault. She never should have asked him, no matter how clear her instructions were not to engage.

 

Killian is out of his seat and sliding into the booth on her side in an instant when he sees the look on her face and hears the waver in her voice. He doesn't touch her, his hand hovering uncertainly by her shoulder before he lets it drop to his side. She turns automatically to face him, heart thudding in her chest. He leans in, trying to hear, and she can see that he’s concerned, unsure of what's happening on the other end of the line, but still trying to look reassuring and encouraging nonetheless. She appreciates it.

 

“I’m assuming that you are the Emma Swan on this card? The one who asks children to keep an eye on dangerous criminals?” The woman, Regina sneers. “And he’s fine by the way.” She snaps. “No thanks to you.”

 

“I was just-” Emma starts but the woman cuts her off.

 

“I realize that a woman of your _‘profession’_ probably thinks it's perfectly okay to ask a _child_ to participate in your hazardous and degenerate lifestyle but let me inform you, Miss Swan, that roping a _minor_ into criminal activity could be considered negligence at best. Not only did you endanger his life but the lives of my fiancé and his son as well. What drugs _were_ you on when you thought it was a smart idea to involve a pre-teen with that sleazeball Felix and worse, a dangerous criminal like Malcolm Gold?”

 

“Wait a minute-” but again she cuts her off, each word angry, biting, and accusatory making Emma flush hot with both anger and shame.

 

“You stay away from my family, I don't want you anywhere _near_ us or I'll slap a restraining order on you so fast your head will spin, and _then_ I’ll have your bail agent license revoked. Is that _very_ clear Miss Swan?”

 

Before Emma can answer she hears the familiar indicator beep of a lost call. She pulls the phone away, looking down at it, stricken.

 

“What was that about? Who was that?”

 

“Remember that boy, Henry?” Emma sighs. “ _That,_ was his mother. She didn't appreciate me asking him to keep an eye on Felix’s place for us.”

 

“You did tell him just to keep an ear out, love, not to interact. On that you were very clear. He wasn't in any danger,” Killian does touch her now, hand gently and hesitantly coming to rest in her arm, rubbing up and down reassuringly for a moment, his voice going soft with concern. It's nice, Emma thinks, and gives him a weak uncertain smile, looking back down to her phone.

 

“Wait,” Emma looks up and Killian jerks away, his hand falling from her arm, his cheeks flushing red for a second. He opens his mouth to apologize for his forwardness but Emma waves it off, shaking her head and holding up her phone.

 

“She said _Malcolm_ _Gold,”_ Emma looks at him meaningfully. He blinks at her, confused.

 

“Sorry, I don't quite-” Emma waves the phone at his face again, practically vibrating with excitement.

 

“Henry’s mother, on the phone. She said I was stupid for involving Henry with a criminal like _Malcolm_ _Gold_ , first she said Felix and then she said “worse Malcolm Gold.” I never mentioned Gold.  To Henry or to her.”

 

Killian still looks a bit confused, brows furrowed.

 

“Don't you see? This is another lead! She obviously talked to Felix enough, or knew enough about him to connect him to Gold. She called him a sleazeball so I'm guessing she's, ya know, _met_ _him_ , but if she knows who he works for too she's at least had a decent conversation with the guy. Maybe she knows something?”

 

“Aye,” Killian nods following, “It couldn't possibly hurt to look into her further, maybe swing by and ask her some questions.” At Emma’s anxious look at her phone he amends, “Or rather _I_ will swing by and ask her some questions, that's probably for the best I think.”

 

Emma nods, guilt rising once again. Despite her acerbic tone and her suspicious name drops, the woman had been right, involving Henry was stupid.

 

Killian makes a little humming noise and reaches forward, chucking her chin up with his hand.

 

“Hey, you didn't do anything wrong,” he says softly. “Nothing happened, and you were very careful with the lad. All you did was ask him to call you if he heard something.”

 

Emma lets out a shaky breath, swallowing as something warm and sweet fills her chest, heart fluttering against her ribs as he tilts his head and smiles at her.

 

“Tell that to Regina Mills,” she mutters, sheepishly tucking a curl behind her ear.

 

Killian freezes for a moment and then coughs.

 

“Well!  I'm starving. Let's eat shall we?”

 

He slowly slides backwards off the booth, all color draining from his face as he gives her a shaky smile. Emma frowns.

 

“Jones?” she watches as he moves back to his side of the booth, his jaw clenched and his hand trembling slightly as he takes up his fork again. “Everything okay?”

 

“Aye, of course love,” he gives her that false grin again, nothing more than an insincere stretching of lips across teeth.

 

“Everything's fine.”

 

______

 

The buzz of her phone on her nightstand startles her awake, a thousand tiny jackhammers invading her dreams as it skitters across the surface. She reaches over, smacking her palm on the wood, crawling her fingers across it until she wraps them around the shape of the device.

 

“‘Lo,” she murmurs into it, scowling in disdain at the ceiling above.

 

“Not a morning person I take it?” His voice is entirely too chipper, cutting through the last vestiges of her foggy post-dream state. She lets out a low growl and rolls onto her side, holding her phone out to look at the time, squinting.

 

“Why the hell are you calling me this early?”

 

In his defense it's not that early. It is just past 8, but considering she didn't fall asleep until closer to four, anxiety over his secrecy, guilt about the kid, Henry, and the entire Felix Samuelson situation making her toss and turn, the call is still unwelcome.

 

He had been cold at the diner after Regina Mill’s call, finishing his meal mechanically, paying the bill without comment, and saying nothing more than a wish for her safe drive home and a pleasant rest of her evening. No innuendo, no flirtations, no quoting of musicals, just silence and tension.

 

It was just one more layer to the mystery that was Killian Jones. One more secret he was keeping and one more reason to be suspicious of his motives. She desperately wanted to trust him, despite her better judgement, and for reasons she didn't want to examine too closely, but things like this, rapidly swinging moods and weird reactions to random people’s names, made that difficult.

 

Some sleep deprived, irrational part of her is slightly cheered by the fact that he sounds better, more normal, and the tense, brusque man she had left at the diner last night has been replaced by his much more agreeable daytime counterpart.

 

“Just got off the phone with our reluctant informant,” he says and Emma sits up, wide awake at that. “But now that I know you’re still abed I find I’d much rather discuss _that_.”

 

Emma ignores him.

 

“What did he say?”

 

“Seems today is inventory day at the nightclub, have to square up the accounts, make sure everything is where it needs to be, you understand, and according to our little songbird, Samuelson never misses inventory day. Course they’ve only had a few, but a patterns a pattern.”

 

“Okay, so we wait outside for Samuelson to arrive and then grab him, right?”

 

Emma feels excitement creeping up her spine, anticipation making her slightly giddy.

 

“My thoughts exactly, love. I'm on my way to yours right now,” she can hear the sound of his truck in the background, and knows he won’t be long.

 

“Okay I'll throw on some clothes and get my gear together.” Killian chuckles into the phone.

 

“Oh Swan. Don’t go to any trouble on my account darling, no need to rush. Feel free to take your time with that bit.”  

 

Emma rolls her eyes, the first of many this day she's sure, phone trapped between shoulder and ear as she reaches for a pair of jeans.

 

“I'll see you in minute.” She scoffs “Idiot.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for CS AU Week and right now its just a one shot but I do have some other ideas so I'll probably write a few more pieces for it in the future. Its unbetap'd so I might go back and clean it up later...but probably not.
> 
> Reviews are always appreciated and as always feel free to follow me on tumblr (ripplestitchskein).


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